


Beyond Deliverance

by Goobby



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Bisexual Female Character, Dimension Travel, Empath, Enemies to Friends, F/F, F/M, Family, Family Fluff, Female Friendship, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff & Ravenclaw Inter-House Friendships, Hufflepuff & Slytherin Inter-House Friendships, Lily evans sister, Magical Realism, Male-Female Friendship, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Minor Original Character(s), Original Character(s), Rebirth, Sad Sirius Black, Slow Build, Young James Potter, Young Lily Evans Potter, Young Peter Pettigrew, Young Regulus Black, Young Severus Snape, Young Sirius Black
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 55,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28440837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goobby/pseuds/Goobby
Summary: Clover Blossom Evans... there is more going on in the mind of the youngest Evans than even she was aware. However, with this second chance, will she find her deliverance or something more?- Dimensional Travel/Rebirth fic Fixfic?- Trying to be an atypical Evans' sister insert story.- Pairings are not yet determined. Nothing is sacred.Cross-posted on fanfiction.net and quotev.((WILL BE VERY LONG DURING WRITING PHASE BEFORE I EDIT TO BREAK IT UP INTO MULTIPLE BOOKS))
Relationships: Filius Flitwick & Original Female Character(s), Horace Slughorn & Original Female Character(s), Lily Evans Potter & Original Female Character(s), Lily Evans Potter & Severus Snape, Marauders (Harry Potter) & Original Female Character(s), Marlene McKinnon & Original Female Character(s), Minerva McGonagall & Original Female Character(s), Petunia Evans Dursley & Lily Evans Potter, Petunia Evans Dursley & Original Female Character(s), Pomona Sprout & Original Female Character(s), Regulus Black & Original Female Character(s), Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & Peter Pettigrew & James Potter & Lily Evans Potter
Comments: 25
Kudos: 70





	1. Chapter One ~ Clover Blossom Evans

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the first chapter! I plan to update at least once a week if not more and this is cross-posted on many platforms because I am really looking for feedback on my writing so if you have anything you would like to say good or bad about my work please let me know. 
> 
> Thank you so much for taking the time to read and I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> -Elle

They chose to name her Clover because they were so lucky to have her. That was another way of saying she was an unplanned child. 

She is Clover Blossom because they thought Clover wasn’t enough to fit with the flower theme of this generation of Evans. She disagrees. Being the weed of the family fits her perfectly—no need to mask it with a fancy middle name. 

They say otherwise, her parents, that is, they say that her middle name reflects how every day she seems to blossom in ways they did not think possible. She would like to rephrase that as they don’t know how to handle an introverted child in a family of overwhelming extroverts. 

Especially not one who cannot decipher dreams from reality in the slightest. One who finds herself pierced with mind splitting headaches from merely the sight of her sisters on a bad day. One who more often than not can be found alone with her thoughts rather than beside another child. 

She was the problem child by all rights, but she couldn’t help it. 

They tried to coddle her, but it is hard to return affections when your identities and memories jumble together like a vast mass of string in your mind. With every attempt you make at untangling it, you find yourself entangled more within its pull. Names, faces, and events were all passed by in a blur of distant familiarity and total disconnect. Like a sense of Deja vu for witnessing an occasion you had never experienced first-hand but rather heard of years later as someone else had recalled it. 

Mind numbingly complicated and no more comfortable to experience than it is to explain. 

That is until she was eight. Mother had requested that Petunia and Lily take her along as they were going out to the park. Petunia was apprehensive because she didn’t want her friends to see the young girl break out in tears again. She often does when the war inside her mind became too much. 

She didn’t hate her youngest sister, don’t be misguided. She showed her care in other ways. The small child was often the perfect doll for her to dress up in old clothes because she was still and silent most often, unlike Lily. Even to the best of the fiery sister’s abilities, the latter could not help but squirm and yap about any little thought that entered her mind. 

Clover tagged along, though, because she had no other choice. Mother was going to visit a friend, and ‘there would be no other children to occupy the poor thing’ as if that mattered. 

Still, Lily had taken the baby Evans by the hand. At breakneck speeds, as compared to the little one’s typical pace, she found herself beneath a tree with thick grass and shrubbery below her palms as she reclined back beside her sister. 

“I want to introduce you to my friend. His name is Severus,” Lily babbled on. 

The name sounded familiar. The feeling of the beginning of a headache starting to form drug the Blossom child’s attention away from the feel of the summer sun, which was sure to burn her nearly translucent skin. 

“I think you two would get along. You both are quiet and smart. He seems a bit odd at first, but he is really nice.” 

Their eyes meet vibrant evergreen to pale blue, and Clover gave her a small smile encouraging her to continue. 

Lily really was a sweet child, and she took her role of elder sister very seriously. She tried to teach the youngest about the world, at least everything she knew about it from her additional year of experience. Still, more often than not, Clover tuned her out. Not necessarily by choice but because her typical information overload did nothing less than frying the younger girl’s brain. 

“It really is wonderful Clove, they use cauldrons to make potions, and they wear gloves made of the hyde of dragons! Dragons, Clove! Dragons with scales and wings that breathe fire!” 

It seems she had missed something again. The circular motion of her middle and forefinger upon her temple ceased. 

Lily was grinning brightly, looking off into the distance towards a flock of birds that Clover didn’t have the background to identify. They were soaring in a frenzy, but it was like she was looking through her sister’s eyes for a moment. The feathers morphed to shining viridian scales, and the beaks pushed back into a stunted snout that puffs of charcoal-grey smoke burst from with each exhale. She shot straight up into a sitting position, heart racing. 

“What is it, Clove? Is it your head again? Do you need to take a nap? We can meet Severus another time. I am sure he would understand.”

Her hands tightly clasped her sister’s in her own, shaking them a bit as if to arouse a response.

The little Evans shut her eyes to calm her breathing, not really fancying the thought of fainting due to hyperventilating at the moment. When she cautiously peeled them back open, all she saw were the typical neighbourhood birds—no dragonesque creatures in sight.

“I’m okay, Lily. Where do the dragons stay?”

Lily’s eyes roamed her sister for a second. Still, she moved on just as quickly, slipping back into innocent joy recounting about dragons and their various uses. She tells her they are held on reserves all over the world, and they can eat people, but they often don’t because there are people who stop them. From potion-making to medieval fashion, she describes a fantastical world. 

She rambles on, in other words, and the younger one lets her, happy to just listen to her stories, which seem to teeter on the edge of something familiar. She tries to clear her mind, though, not wishing to dull the moment with a mind splitting headache, which is the only result of trying to sort out her thoughts. 

“Severus!” Lily calls out, breaking her tirade. 

Clover hears the crunch of sticks underfoot to her right and, upon opening her eyes, sees the sickly pale face of a boy about Lily’s age. His eyes are deep-set with irises so dark that his pupils are indistinguishable. Cheekbones are as prominent as the rest of his lean body, emphasizing the young boy’s overall fragile build. 

His hands play with the hem of his oversized black tunic shirt, but his facial expression gives away no hint of emotion.

Pathetic. It’s meant as an observation, not an insult. Clearly, the circumstances of the child could be best summarized as unfortunate to the younger girl. 

He avoided eye contact with the unfamiliar girl. Still, she held a small smile nonetheless as Lily leapt to her feet, dragging the boy by his wrist to their lounging spot under the tree. 

“Clove, this is my friend Severus I have been telling you about, Severus this is my little sister Clover!” 

He was now placed rigidly at her left side sandwiched between the unfamiliar sister and Lily with their backs flush against the trunk of the shady tree. The hill’s perspective gave a clear view of the monotone chimney lined streets of Cokesworth without being close enough to see the repulsive litter and rusted terraces. 

“Nice to meet you,” the little Evans offered to receive only a nod in return. 

Another introvert, she supposed, accepting his response. Eventually, she reclined back propped up with her arms behind her head and legs splayed, grateful to have been given trousers to wear today. Wanting to catch up on sleep she lost from last night’s night terrors; the girl hoped that the warm summer breeze and mossy cushioning of the base of the tree would be enough to lull her to dreamland. 

“Severus, look, I think I finally got the hang of it!” Lily’s voice rose from the hushed whispers the two had been exchanging for the past hour or so. Clover didn’t bother to open her eyes but was a bit agitated to be dragged from the brink of sleep, which she had only just entered. 

However, the loud shriek and frantic rustling beside her prompted the young one to glance. 

“Why would you do that?” the elder sister roared out, resembling a lion with her fiery mane of flyways in the wind. 

The quiet boy seemed to shrink into himself under her gaze, letting out a barely audible apology that seemed helpful in mollifying the frustrated girl. 

“It’s okay, Sev. I didn’t mean to yell at you,” she patted the boy’s arm, hoping to relieve the tenseness in his arched posture. Simultaneously, the baby Evans looked on with curious eyes perplexing as to what had just occurred. The grogginess of being awoken did little to help the young girl either. Still, within minutes the two friends were saying goodbye, and the pale boy only offered Clover a slight nod before they parted ways. 

That was the last Clover would see of him for months. However, she heard about him plenty from her older sister’s lips, who seemed to speak his name in nearly every other sentence. This was much to the eldest Evans chagrin, who did little to hide the loathing she held for the boy who lived at the end of Spinner’s end. As to be expected, this led to quite a bit of infighting between the two elder Evans sisters. 

Especially the time in early August. Lily was chatting about the Snape matriarch’s ring that Severus had come to show her and about how it had been in his mother’s family for generations. 

“She ought to pawn it so they can wear something other than the rags they traipse around in,” proclaimed Petunia carelessly. 

It wasn’t as if she was wrong as the Snape’s would often leave the house in clothing that hung very loose along their frail bodies and were usually coated in various stains or tears. Still, it was insensitive and ill-mannered, and though mother had been quick to scold her for her unkind words, the two Evans girls had begun a cold war of sorts. Poor Clover had soon become caught in the crossfire. 

“Blossom, dear, would you like me to tie your hair into French braids or Dutch braids? We wouldn’t want your hair in your face on the first day of school, especially when you won’t have your older sister there with you this year to watch out for you.” Petunia cooed, obviously meaning this as a jab at the middle Evans, whose red fringe was currently tickling her eye as she continuously swatted it away. 

However, she soon regretted the offer as she tried to wrangle the youngest’s peculiarly curly dark locks into neat Dutch braids and eventually accepted the springy edges of the hairline that she would usually just smooth back with the typical pin-straight hair of the family. 

“C’mon, Clove, it’s time to go! Wouldn’t want to be late and make a poor impression on our first day,” Lily goaded. She took her sister’s smaller hand just as Petunia had tied off the final ribbon. Quickly the elder rushed off to fix herself up with vigorous teasing and hairspray on her straw blonde hair. 

School. Clover supposed she was good at it, but it all came very naturally to her. She found she would intuitively know the answers before the teacher would even begin the lesson. It made the long days of tutelage all the more tedious. Thankfully, after her first-year teachers had come to understand her savant status, there was less pressure for Clover to be engaged in the lessons. Instead, so long as she completed her work, they would allow her to read quietly to herself. Thus, the child devoured book after book, each growing in the complexity of the material. As a seven-year-old, she would flip through texts from subatomic particles to clinical psychology to advanced calculus. 

Although this year, year four, once a week, Clover would be called down from class to meet with Mrs Lloyd, whose peculiar cross of lanky legs but stout torso often perplexed the young Evans. She would just seemingly chat with her aimlessly for about an hour, then send her back to class.

Clover knew this wasn’t the case, however. Autism was little-understood but becoming a hot topic. With her odd social aversion and advanced intellect, it was no surprise she had caught the attention of child psychologists. Still, Clover found it to be a bit of a burden to halt her reading for an hour each week to pointlessly indulge the older woman.

However, not this week, as it was mid-October, and the fighting between her sisters had now prolonged for over two months. The baby of the family knew if she did not tell someone of her frustrations, she would blow up and make the circumstances worse at home. 

“How are you doing dear?” the woman crooned as Clover had finally adjusted herself on the cushion of the stiff chair of Mrs Lloyd’s office. She expected the typical ‘fine’ or ‘good’ or ‘I am doing well how about you?’ she would usually hear in response. 

“I am at my wit’s end,” responded young Clover pushing behind her ear a curl that had freed from the French braid Tuney had tied up that morning. 

“Oh,” exclaimed Mrs Lloyd, “and why is that?” 

Quick to regain her decorum, Mrs Lloyd stirred her tea, nudging the cup she had prepared for Clover in advance.

“My sisters are fighting and are using me to proclaim their passive-aggressive barbs without acknowledging each other. I don’t want to spend time with my sisters until they talk to me, not through me!” Clover cried out, rolling her wrist with open palms up to emphasize her point. 

Mrs Lloyd brought her cup of tea up to her lips and took a slow sip breathing out as she placed it down. Her eyes roamed the girl, brain likely going haywire with the new persona the child seemed to portray. 

“I see, and would you like to tell me why this bothers you?” prompted the older woman as she brushed her finger on the edge of her cup, still staring down at the child. 

Clover took time to mull over the question, picked up her own cup, and took a generous swig before returning to her rant. 

“My sisters are great. Amazing sisters even, but they are both so thick-headed. They both love to talk but couldn’t talk to each other if they tried. I just wish one could learn to say sorry even if they both don’t think it’s their fault. I love being their sister, and they make me happy, but I know they aren’t happy, and when they aren’t happy, I can’t be happy,” the words tumbled out of her mouth so quick Mrs Lloyd could barely catch it, but she had caught the gist. 

“Have you tried telling them that, Ms Evans?” her eyes searched the youngers for something.

Clover curled her toes in and out at the oncoming headache as she broke eye contact with the woman. 

“No, miss,” she responded. 

“Would you like to tell them that?” Mrs Lloyd continued. 

“I fear they would listen to me less than they listen to each other,” Clover confided. 

The woman drew a pen from a cup on her desk and opened the expensive leather portfolio she had lying in front of her. 

“Does this bother you, Ms Evans?”

Clover knew she was allowing herself to be psychoanalyzed by opening herself up to this. So she allowed herself a moment of genuine introspection.

“Not usually, but in this case, it does,” she offered after a pregnant pause of silence. 

“And why is that Miss Evans?” Mrs Lloyd prodded.

“It bothers me because I feel helpless. I feel like I have no way to fix this situation, and anything I say will make it worse. I don’t need to be heard to feel like I am loved, but they do. They need someone to listen, and when neither of them is listening, they can’t see how much they love each other, and it is driving me insane.”

“You feel helpless because they won’t listen to you?” asked Mrs Lloyd, clicking the pen.

“No, to each other,” Clover corrected. 

“And you do not care if your sisters listen to you?”

“Of course, I would like them to, but I know how they are,” responded the girl playing with her empty teacup. 

Mrs Lloyd scribbled down in her book for a few seconds before returning to the onslaught of questions that Clover attempted to answer to the best of her abilities. Yet, it was clear to both parties that this conversation was going nowhere. Clover just wanted to air her frustrations because she had already resigned to her sister’s nature and accepted. She could only wait until they dealt with things on their own. 

“I see. Why don’t we do this dear, you tell your sisters what you told me today, and we discuss this again tomorrow?” Mrs Lloyd declared, shutting the portfolio and capping her pen with a subdued sigh. 

I would rather not, but still, Clover offered only a simple nod in response before uttering out her replies and returning to class. 

That night at dinner, the only sound in the Evans house was of utensils scraping against the ceramic plates. Clover herself was pushing peas around her dish. Feeling instead of hungry on the edge of throwing up what little contents remained in her stomach. Her thoughts swirled upon different ways to air her concerns to her family. 

Fed up with the uncomfortable silence, the father’s voice broke through “How was school, girls?” 

No one responded. 

“Petunia?” Mother prompted. 

“It was alright. Donna let me braid her hair during lunch. All the girls are asking me to do theirs as well tomorrow,” Petunia responded, casting a glance at Lily. The latter’s fiery mane had flown free these past months without Petunia’s skilful hands tying it back. 

“That’s nice darling, how about you, Lily dear, how was your day?” Mother asked.

“It was okay. Severus said his mother was feeling unwell, so he couldn’t meet me after school today,” Lily told her mother. Petunia’s lips pursed at the name of the boy. Lily catching the change of expression, glared at her older sister in response. 

Sensing the tension, the patriarch quickly turned the conversation to his youngest, “How about you, my little blossom, how was your day?” 

“I got called down to Mrs Lloyd’s to talk again today,” Clover started but wasn’t sure how to continue. 

“Is that right? What did you talk about?” her father added.

“Lily and Petunia,” the youngest stated bluntly. Suddenly all eyes were on her, and the sound of cutlery scraping ceramic halted. 

“She said I should tell you what I told her. It was my assignment, and I should come back and tell her how it went tomorrow,” she continued to circle, not wanting to start. 

Clover’s eyes wandered from the curious expressions on her sister’s faces to the comforting smiles on her parents. With a large exhale, she resigned herself to finally share. 

“I feel hurt when you two fight because I know you two do not want to be fighting.” Clover closed her eyes.

“You want to talk to each other, but you won’t, and I don’t understand why.” She did, but it was harder to put her frustration into words, and this would do.

“I love you, and I know you love each other. Could you please listen and forgive each other and stop this fighting?” Out popped the request, and she finally allowed herself to spare a glance at her sisters. 

Their eyes showed pity for the youngest, but the tenseness of Lily’s jaw and the clenching of Petunia’s fist told they weren’t too keen to give in to Clover’s request. 

Desperation ached in the young one’s heart. She felt it pouring over her and out of her in waves. She thought back to all the fun times the girls had shared. From when they would play with dolls together. To when Petunia taught them how to bake biscuits when Mum was too busy. To when they would cuddle together on the loveseat at night, dozing off to the sound of the nightly news their father would watch. 

Before her eyes, she watched her sisters relax, and the tenseness leave them in place of consoling smiles. They looked to each other, and still, the hostility did not return. 

“I am sorry for what I said about your friend. It was uncouth,” Petunia uttered first. Not claiming what she said was false but relenting as much as her fickle pride would allow. 

“I am sorry for talking so much about Severus, I know you don’t like him, but I feel you misjudged him. He is really nice and smart, Tuney!” Lily returned, and though Petunia was fighting back, rolling her eyes, she grasped her sister's hands between her own instead. 

“Sisters again?” the elder asked. 

“Always,” the younger responded. 

The remaining Evans wore matching smiles at the sight of the war finally ending, and the youngest finally found it within herself to shovel a forkful of peas into her mouth. 

Thank god that was over.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On my other platforms, I have the one-liner thoughts from Clover that I use sporadically italicized, but AO3 doesn't allow me to do so, so I just wanted to let you know that her thoughts are sprinkled in sometimes, but they will be at most a line that's separate from the rest of the text.

“How did it go? Dear?” Mrs Lloyd questioned early Tuesday morning, offering the young one a biscuit for her time.

Not seconds after young Clover Blossom entered her classroom, still shedding her coat, the teachers ushered her to Mrs Lloyds office, claiming the woman was expecting her. She barely had enough time to compose her thoughts before she found herself staring down at the tacky maroon carpeting.

Clover glazed her eyes over the chipped wood panelling of the walls, “Fine, I suppose.”

The woman’s gaze was weighty on the child who was avoiding looking at her commanding presence, quickly coming to regret her lack of a filter the day prior, which seemed to have invigorated Mrs Lloyd’s interest in her.

“Just fine?” she watched the sugar drop into her cup before looking up to see Clover silently nod. It seemed not only were they back to business as usual, but the child withdrew even further than before.

“Did your sisters stop fighting?” Mrs Lloyd pressed

A nod again. Clover could see the woman rubbing her thumb in the crease of her index finger, a clear indicator she was rapidly becoming frustrated.

“Look at me when I speak to you, Ms. Evans,” and Clover’s eyes rose as high as the woman’s collarbones, not chancing to catch the eye of the older woman.

Clover had met with other doctors like her before.

Her first-year teacher had called her parents to voice concerns that Clover wasn’t getting on well with the other kids, that she would keep to herself, but she was indeed very bright. They had a contact in London who they recommended.

With greater pressure from Donna, Petunia’s best friend’s, parents whose youngest son had just been born with down syndrome, the Evans had given in to driving their daughter two and a half hours each way from Cokesworth to London. There they met with Dr Fletcher, who would show little Clover various pictures or present her with different objects, ask her a few questions then release her back into her parents’ charge at the end of each session with no word of analysis.

Nearly seven months and hundreds of pounds later, the doctor brought their weekly visits to a halt claiming “…there was nothing divergent in her behavior as opposed to other children her age. Perhaps she was just quiet.” To say her mother had been livid was an understatement, and since then, her mother would become cross with just the mention of seeking help for her youngest child’s apparent behavioural problems.

In fact, only the night before, despite being grateful for the outcome of the talk, Mother had pulled Clover aside to let her know, “You do not have to tell Mrs. Lloyd anything unless you want to. You owe her nothing, little Blossom.”

I owe you nothing. Clover repeated over and over in her mind.

“Clover!” Mrs Lloyd’s voice boomed, losing the hint of maternal warmth she often added to draw children from their shells.

The eyes flicked up. Mrs Lloyd had dull brown eyes, not that there was anything wrong with brown eyes. They can be tremendously beautiful, but Mrs Lloyd’s lacked a twinkle or even a sheen. They were unsettlingly artificial-looking.

A piercing pain stabbed the child in the hollows of her eyes, tunnelling its way deep into her skull. She bit back a cry as she crushed closed her eyes grabbing her head. Meanwhile, Mrs Lloyd let out a put off harumph.

“Clover, tell me, why is it you are so unkeen to speak with me today?” Mrs Lloyd questioned a bit condescendingly.

“I am not,” Clover bit out, trying to temper the pain by focusing on the conversation.

“You are not? Then tell me about how last night went,” Mrs Lloyd prompted.

“I told them how I felt, and they made up.”

Clover could feel the tension rolling from Mrs Lloyd in the air. Not in a symbolic way, but it was as if she was wrapped in copper wire, and each beat of Mrs Lloyd’s heart released a current of frustrations whose slow build in charge would thrum through the young Evans. The pain in her head, coupled with the light intensity of discomfort wracking deep within her, made her want to hurl.

“They just accepted your request? I thought you said your sisters were not so easy to break through to,” Mrs Lloyd continued to push.

“I don’t know why. They just accepted what I said,” Clover whimpered out, the discomfort beginning to overwhelm her, and she could feel her heart pulsing along with the intensifying charge that seemed to have reached deep within her soul.

Mrs Lloyds knuckles were white from her grip on the pen. She had yet to open her portfolio today, but she stared down at the child with eyes more predatory than nurturing.

At the lack of a response, Clover looked up once more. Eyes locking with Mrs Lloyds, and she had to summon all her strength to fight back the bile climbing up her throat from the rising in the intensity of the piercing pain in her brain and the almost electric sensations that ran through her body. The cause she did not know. Maybe there indeed was something wrong with her.

Why was it that just being in a room with someone could have such a peculiar impact on her? Why does her brain seem to break down and seemingly tear itself apart at some of the most insignificant information? Why was it that the pain she was experiencing now felt so fundamentally different?

She wanted to submit and give in. She really wanted to. It was not in her nature to willingly enter into conflict, and she honestly had nothing against the woman. Something stopped her, though. Something in her was screaming to stay silent and not succumb to her passive nature.

“Is everything alright, Ms. Evans?” Mrs Lloyd questioned ‘kindly’, clearly seeing that the child was in some state of distress.

The debilitating sensations were still crashing through the child so much so she could barely comprehend the words the woman spoke. Releasing her grip on her head, the girl dropped back her shoulders. Instead of fighting to endure the pain, she psychologically leaned into it. As if an extension of herself was grasping onto the coils that bound her and returning their charge tenfold. All without batting an eye, which is why she caught the slight grimace and shifting of Mrs Lloyd as the older woman quickly broke eye contact with the child.

The headache was slowly alleviating itself to a small pulse, and Clover’s heartrate was steadily returning to normal. Her relief did not allow her to catch the slight smirk that arose on her company’s face as she scribbled in her portfolio, however. She was too busy finding her way to the door as she was dismissed for the day back to class.

It was such an odd experience, yet Clover nearly forgot about it by the time she arrived home. They were having some type of pasta that night, and Clover, being particularly partial to all things carbs, was happy to aid her mother into the kitchen.

They talked of this and that around town or something her mother had heard on the news. Eventually, Petunia and Lily, who was off with Severus, returned home as well. They, too, had stories to share.

By the time young Clover Blossom was settling in for the night, her mother tucking her in despite her feeling she was growing a bit old for this type of coddling, all recollection of the strange morning chat was buried deep in her subconscious.

If only her subconscious understood that she had no intentions of visiting it as she drifted off to sleep.

It was nothing new for her to find upon closing her eyes that she is surrounded by rows upon rows of metal shelves like that of a new warehouse. Upon the shelves were a variety of things ranging from papers to objects, to sparkling particles. She never spent too long looking at one thing or another, and she could never get quite close enough to make out the details. It was as if each case was surrounded by an impenetrable bubble that was nearly invisible if not for the iridescent sheen.

When she’d look up, there was no ceiling, just the most expansive dark abyss one could imagine. Occasionally a jut of light would burst across, stretching from one end of her vision to another, but all it illuminated was how far beyond her scope the towers of shelves spanned.

She would wander through the aisles of shelves, which seemed to be situated not in logical rows but like that of a twisting maze where she would find herself helpless in navigating if that was her purpose.

She would walk until she came upon a door, but it would always be locked, and she would never see that particular door again.

Tonight, she came upon the door much sooner than typically so. However, it was not her quick navigation that caught her off guard, but rather how hauntingly familiar the door appeared, the door she often walked through to enter Mrs Lloyd’s office.

It was an oak door with a few knicks and scratches upon its overall smooth surface. The gold handle, which appeared well used, was wrapped by the standard padlock chains she would come across. Still, the lock itself was dented in as if someone had taken to smashing at it repeatedly and coupled with the accompanying slashes, she assumed whatever they used was incredibly sharp.

Her hand reached out to touch the damaged lock. Rather than the feel of metal against her hand, she was met with a flow of sand as the lock disintegrated into dust. She let it pour from her palm, but rather than hitting the floor; the silver particles flowed around her like a metallic aurora.

Clover marvelled for a moment before reaching out once more before her hand made contact with the handle. This time the metal pressed firmly back against her palm as she pushed down. She held her breath, both anxious and thrilled at the prospect of what she would find inside, but all she was met with was darkness.

Tentatively she stepped into the seemingly empty room.

Eventually, the light from where she came no longer illuminated her next step, and she was unsure if she should walk any further into the room. Readying herself to turn around and return to where she came from, the sound of a door pounding against its frame rang clear in her ears as she was thrown into absolute darkness. Beneath her feet, it felt as if the floor had given way, and she was suspended in zero gravity.

Her thoughts rang louder than anything. Her somewhat sensitive ears were able to pick up nothing, and the lack of odour to the place was frankly unsettling.

She was genuinely deprived of any sensation, and as she floated in this void, she grew more and more comfortable with how it felt, intoxicated on the lack of anything it offered as compared to the routine overstimulation she endured.

That is until she felt something warm latching around her wrist and the rush of being pulled in an unknown direction.

All of her being latched onto the sensation until the darkness around her gave way to a blinding light. Which, too, gave way to the view of a reasonably unimpressive bedroom.

Four walls were painted a light blue colour with white crown moulding. A bed shoved into the far-right corner sandwiched between two double-paned windows. A desk coated in various documents and a strange metal slab, a bookshelf that seemed to be overflowing, a couple of dressers the same dark ebony as the bed, and that was all.

The thoughts of where she resided soon gave way to what she could now identify as a hand upon her left wrist. Trailing her eyes from the pale digits rivalling her own in transparency to the petite frame dressed in a simple knitted jumper to the feminine face before her, Clover determined that she likely should have never opened that door.

“Who are you?” Clover asked the girl, woman?

“That doesn’t matter. I am sorry for not getting you sooner I wasn’t aware the door would be manifesting in the sub-realm so soon after the attack!”

Sub-realm? Attack? 

“The sub-realm, the realm of the subconscious mind. I am sure you find yourself there often in your dreams, don’t ya?” the girl smiled down at Clover, releasing her grip and striding over to the bed before jumping back, reclining against the countless pillows it harboured.

Clover did find herself there often, but she thought it was just a dream.

“Well, dreams are just a product of the subconscious mind, aren’t they? I suppose with all the organizing I did down there, it’s no surprise that I might’ve faulted the wiring of the dream function. I’m sorry ’bout that little one.”

The girl wasn’t English, she was clearly American, and she also made absolutely no sense.

“I happen to be making perfect sense, thank you very much. You just happen to not be in touch with yourself enough to know what I am talking about. In all honesty, I don’t think you’re all too ready to know either. If it weren’t for Mrs. Lloyd, you would never find your way into the interareal gorge anyway. C’mere,” she motioned Clover over to where she was sat on the bed. It felt as if Clover had lost control of her body as she made her way across the room, taking a seat beside the strange girl.

“I’m really sorry. If I could explain everything to you, I would, but I’m a little confused as to what is going on right now and what I do know, well, for that, I don’t think you’re ready. I promise you one day we’ll talk, and everything will all make sense, but for now, I’m going to need you to wake up for me, okay, kiddo?”

Wake up… so this is a dream. 

“Well, no, but yes, the answer to that is kind of. I need you to do me a favor and look through that window here, alright?”

Clover did, but all she saw was darkness, which seemed to be a common theme of this place.

“Of course you see nothing because your eyes are still closed,” the girl laughed as if this was incredibly funny, but Clover knew her eyes were open, for how else was she looking out this window.

“No kid, eyes are the window to the soul. What you are looking through right now is your third eye, but I need you to be looking through the two physical peepers right here,” she gestured to the two windows, “alright?”

Clover wasn’t all too sure about what she was asking, but she nodded in affirmation anyway. Focusing with all her might to open her eyes despite clearly seeing through them, it was as if one moment she was staring out the window at a whole lot of nothing, and the next, she was looking at the familiar sight of her bedroom’s popcorn ceiling.

What a strange dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N – So, how was it? If you can't tell this is where the rebirth knowledge will stem from and is a bit of setting up for like every major plot point I have planned, which I'll be honest isn't many I just kinda write the scenes and let the plot unfold on its own... 
> 
> Let me know if you don't like these Clover-centric chapters and would rather me sprinkle this type of character building/introspection/mindscape scenes between cannon magical type fluff when I put them in. I originally was going to continue with the window thing into Diagon alley, but I felt I needed to stop here. 
> 
> I am trying to write in British English for this story, so I am sorry if anything seems unnatural or if I make any mistakes.
> 
> Thanks for reading 


	3. Chapter 3 ~ Makes Sense

Ten-year old Clover Blossom Evans truly lost her faith in reality. In saying this, she also had absolutely no intention to return to what she believed was reality either. Trailing her Father and Lily who charged ahead the crowded cobbled streets Clover traipsed with both Petunia and her mother in hand. 

The air around her was buzzing. Truly buzzing like the low thrum of a live wire and sensations of new and old tickled her skin with each peculiar looking stranger she passed. To Clover being here alone, here in Diagon alley was a dream come true. One she could have never imagined only a little over a year prior. One she wouldn’t have even thought to dream of had the incident not occurred.

Diagon Alley represented ten-year-old Clover Blossom Evans. It was a place that was high-spirited and colourful in nature. Eccentric in the best of ways with roots so old and rich in history one could spend a lifetime walking its streets and never know all the secrets it held. A perfect representation of what it was like to be ten-year old Clover Blossom Evans.

However, perhaps it is best to understand just how she found herself walking these streets. 

If Clover could find a place that would best summarize her life as a nine-year-old she supposed her hometown was no worse of a representation than any. 

Quaint, quiet, and mundane on the outside. Business as usual should be Cokesworth’s slogan. 

Inside the homes, however, was a passionate array of diverse experiences. Some would exist in a comfortable state of faultless cohabitation while others rip apart at the pillars supporting what measly excuse of a family life they are attempting to front. Then there too lies everyone in between, but more often than not Cokesworth was the impeccable breeding ground for thinly veiled extremists. 

Yes, Cokesworth is a perfect representation of what it was like to be nine-year old Clover Blossom Evans. 

She supposed everything may have really started into motion the day she met Severus as an eight-year-old, or maybe it started the day she was born? Regardless, the exact point the world as she knew it came crashing down on her was none other than her ninth birthday. 

February 15th, 1970. 

For a simple outline of how the day started, Mother was in the kitchen baking what would be her birthday cake for the small celebration they were holding later that day. Petunia was also in the kitchen preparing a batch of ginger snaps which Clover could feel her mouth salivating over just from the smell. Father was preparing the decorations in the dining room, despite the fact that only the family would be in attendance. Lily and Clover were resting on their loveseat watching this all unfold. 

“Sometimes I wish I had a spring birthday like Tuney…” Clover mumbled pulling the knitted throw blanket further up her shoulders. 

“Why do you say that?” Lily asked looking down at her younger sister who despite only being a year younger was a good head shorter than her. 

“Because our decorations are always snow themed, Petunia always has flower decorations for her birthday, but I thought it was our thing. We’re the flower sisters, all of us,” Clover admitted to her sister casting glances at the snowflake streamers that she was sure her father was reusing from New Years. 

“That’s true…” Lily trailed off rolling her lower lip between her teeth seeming to deeply deliberate on something. Well, as deeply as a ten-year-old could. 

Taking her little sisters hand like she so often does, “Here come with me Clove! Quick!” she dragged her sister up the steps and into their shared room. 

Releasing her hand Lily ventured over to the chest by her bed leaving little Clover to track her sister with her eyes wondering just what she could be up to. 

She heaved out the scrap book their mum had made with them the past summer and she laid it down on the carpeting in the middle of the room flicking through the pages. 

“Aha! There it is,” Lily said smiling up at Clover as she waddled her way over to kneel down beside her sister and get a better look. It was a picture of Lily and Clover in the meadow of clovers they had picnicked at on holiday. Clover too smiled at the sight, recalling what a beautiful day that had been and all the fun they had chasing after each other and rolling down the sprawling hills. 

Lily peeled the picture from between the plastic sheets encasing it and held it between her hands closing her eyes with fierce concentration. She inhaled deeply and Clover could feel a static charge build around her, like the air before a thunderstorm rolls in. Clover watched on with restless fascination wondering what her sister could possibly be doing. 

Slowly, but surely, Lily raised the top hand revealing a smidge of green, which grew into a collection of stems, and eventually a handful of clovers sprouting from the family photo. 

Giggling at her little sister’s slacked jaw, Lily fisted the Clovers before beginning to weave them into Clover’s simple braided bun Petunia had tied her hair into that day. 

Meanwhile Clover was altogether removed from the moment, withdrawing from the present as the barricade long built in her mind came tumbling down. She found herself in the plain bedroom she had visited in a dream some months before. There the same girl sat upon her bed peering out the windows mirroring the same awestruck expression Clover was sure she was wearing. 

Clover approached the bed slowly arching her body to peer round the strange girl’s shoulder. Her brows scrunched together at the sight to behold. It was that of her bedroom, the one she was just sitting in.

A booming echo flowed through the small room like a shout in a cave that strongly resembled Lily’s humming. 

Clover hesitantly reached out her hand, placing it on the shoulder of the still unidentifiable girl hoping to shake her from her stupor. 

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! This isn’t happening! This is so cool, but also very bad! God, I was not prepared for this!” the girl rambled out eyes flashing across the room likely seeing nothing as she paced about. 

Clover just watched her melt down, suddenly not feeling as overwhelmed here in this strange bedroom. Perhaps the girl was incredulous enough for the both of them. Clover walked across the spans of the room taking a seat in the cushioned desk chair and resigning herself to wait out the older girl’s breakdown. 

The girl tore through the bookshelf seemingly looking for one in particular as she came to a stop after pulling a particularly thick tome. She spun around on her heel to make her way to the desk but was stricken by the sight of Clover patiently resting her chin in her hand watching her. 

“How did you get here again?” the girl questioned, in a confused voice rather than a demanding one “Fuck, sorry, nevermind I know why. God so much makes sense now. I thought this was just the universe making fun of my obsession, how the fuck was I supposed to know it was possible to reincarnate in a different dimension. This is nuts!” 

Clover felt herself agreeing with her, but nothing in particular more. 

“I suppose you’ll be visiting me quite a bit more from now on considering all the locks have shattered and the barricades are down” the girl continued. 

Clover didn’t know what that meant, but she felt she would be coming here more often as well. 

The girl seemed to calm from her hysteria and was instead roaming her eyes over the young child in concern. 

“Are you alright?” she questioned. 

Was she alright? Clover thought she was fine, but she couldn’t be quite sure. She didn’t feel much at all right now. 

“All done!” echoed Lily’s voice through the room. Both girls turned their heads to the windows where the once sight of the child’s bedroom was replaced with a large display of her redheaded sister’s smiling face. 

“You look so cute Clove! Let’s head back down before Mum and Dad worry, okay?” 

The woman watched as the Clover in her room nodded along with the the physical Clover, before eventually fading away. 

Clover herself felt the room around her blur and suddenly she was back downstairs now donning her flower crown of green. 

The rest of the day went on without a hitch with neither of the girl’s mentioning what Clover had just witnessed upstairs instead opting to enjoy the joy that was permeating through the house. They stuffed themselves with cake and biscuits and Clover opened her gifts. A few new books on chemistry, a new dress, and a bracelet Lily had made that matched with one’s she and Petunia already wore. 

It was a pleasant ninth birthday all in all. 

She went to sleep that night and found herself suspended in nothingness instead of her warehouse dream, or any horrific images her mind liked to conjure. 

The same the following night, and the next. 

She nearly forgot the bizarre experience, like she had with so many others, but weeks later she found herself back before Mrs. Lloyd for their weekly check in that conflicted her narrative of everything being just a figment of her imagination. 

“Clover, dear, you’re letting your tea get cold” she crooned, and Clover could feel the now familiar charge in the air build. It was not like Lily’s rolling thunderstorm, but that of static on a doorknob. Almost like an itchy warning before it lashes out shocking you. 

The woman raised the ceramic cup up raising Clovers eye-line to her own. Clover readied herself for the piercing pain, but it never came. Instead, she felt dizzy. The world seemed to be spinning around her while she sat perfectly still.  
When the world finally came back into focus, she was back in that damned plain bedroom, but another figure seemed to have accompanied her there. Sat on the bed was the familiar figure of the pale woman, but standing in the middle of the room was none other than Mrs. Lloyd. 

The old woman was squirming about as she attempted to peel her arms from her sides not expecting the resistance she felt. 

Clover, however, could see the thin line of iridescence that protected the shelves in the warehouse, and knew immediately that Mrs. Lloyd would be making absolutely not progress in freeing herself. 

Clover made her way to the desk chair again as the woman on the bed turned from the window which simply showed an unsettlingly enlarged image of Mrs. Lloyd’s creepy eyes. 

Clover and the girl shared a look before turning their attention to Mrs. Lloyd who was beginning to realize her struggling was futile. 

“Who are you!” she demanded. 

Clover knew she wasn’t directing this question at her so she waited for the other girl to respond, curious of the answer herself. 

“Who do you think I am?” the girl shot back. 

Mrs. Lloyd had completely stopped and was instead looking intensely at the sand colored wooden flooring. 

“So I was right?” 

“That depends on what you were thinking,” the girl continued to riddle.

“You’re a reincarnate.” 

Clover looked away from her teacher to the woman on the bed. Reincarnate? 

“Yes.” 

Yes?

“What I would like to know is who are you and why you are here,” the girl on the bed demanded. 

“My name is Estelle Shafiq,” Clover and the girl looked to each other once more.  
Shafiq not Lloyd? 

Mrs. Lloyd’s face slowly smoothed of the wrinkles that adorned it, the once sparse greyed hair filled into a shiny strawberry blonde. Her body for the first time proportioned itself out. 

“I study cases like you, reincarnates. My mother was a reincarnate. You remind me of her actually,” the once strained voice morphed into a husky womanly tone. 

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you miss…” Mrs. Lloyd-Shafiq trailed off. 

“My name doesn’t matter. I am not her anymore.”

Not-Mrs. Lloyd’s eyes shot over to where Clover sat silent up to this point. 

“I see,” the not Mrs. Lloyd pursed her lips “it seems I am not welcome here. I understand, but know that I can help. I know far more about this process than you can imagine. If you ever wish to talk you can find me where thieves are hailed as heroes.” 

She faded from the room and Clover along with her. The woman sat behind the desk was still the funky looking old woman she had come to know. 

Clover began to wonder why she was having these vivid hallucinations, but the feel of the elder’s hand on her own was warm and completely out of character. The woman smiled at her a calm reassuring smile, before lifting out of her chair and walking out the door with not a word spoken between them. She never came back. Not that day, not the next, and if Clover were to ask anyone in the building it was as if she had never been there in the first place. 

Perhaps she was going insane, but Clover found that she simply couldn’t accept that theory. Not anymore at least. 

What was it that the girl in the room was claiming to be? A reincarnate?

Clover took out every novel from the local library she could on reincarnation and past lives. She tore through dozens of sacred texts from Hinduism, Jainism, Buddhism, and Sikhism, but she still felt equally as befuddled as before. 

Disheartened she sat in bed late one night, not nearly as appreciative of the emptiness she’s been experiencing from sleep as she had at first. 

She wanted to return to the plain bedroom. She closed her eyes and could nearly envision the light blue walls and smooth beech wood floors. She could feel the warmth of the bed’s cotton quilt beneath her finger tips. The large windows who would be looking out at a sea of black. 

She drew out the details of the girl in her mind, curly ebony hair like her own that had more strands out of the poorly tied bun than within it. The hollows of the eyes were deep-set and yet the eyes themselves protruded like a frog and were large like a walnut, but the irises were an icy steel blue like her own with flecks of silver at the pupil. A nose that was straight and prominent on the face with a splattering of very faint freckles along the bridge telling it had been quite some time since the sun had stained her. Lips that were not quite full, but not quite thin of a dusty rose hue. 

She could see the girl clearly the more she recalled her, almost as if she was right in front of her. 

“So you finally figured out how to get here on your own,” the words slipped from the girls lips as an observation rather than a question. 

Clover looked around. She was in the bedroom. 

“I suppose I have…” silence lingered between the two, until the girl let out a sigh. 

“I didn’t understand what happened at first,” the girl started turning her head to look out at the abyss through the window rather than at Clover. 

“I knew I had died, it would be impossible to believe I hadn’t,” images of blood, lots of blood, flashed in Clover’s mind. Breif images reminiscent of her night terrors. 

“It was dark and quiet for a while, it was a whole lot of nothing, like in the interareal gorge you found yourself in the first time we met. I designed it after that feeling…” 

Clover didn’t say a word just allowed her to continue. 

“Then suddenly it wasn’t a whole lotta nothing, it was a whole lot of everything. I couldn’t bear to open my eyes the light was too bright and the sounds around me were deafening and the feel of hands or metal or whatever on my skin became too much and I just couldn’t handle it,” the girl rubbed her wrist the way Clover would when she would try to self-soothe. 

“I found myself here. This used to be my bedroom. It was comforting. Eventually I found it within myself to explore. I took a trip down memory lane, which is a real avenue if you walk out that door over there and make a right,” she said gesturing to the door Clover could’ve sworn she had entered through the first time she came. 

“We’re in your mindscape there is no definite time or space in here, that door can lead you to memory lane, to knowledge central, to the subrealm. I’ve been setting up these cool pipelines throughout so I can help connect the memories for you when you eventually got more in tune with your inner self, but you came sooner than expected… and I also wasn’t expecting any of this.” 

Clover finally spoke “What do you mean? What’s going on? Who are you? I don’t understand,” the girl finally turned away from the window to look back at Clover.

“You know who I am,” she said bluntly “I am you; you are me.” 

Clover shook her head “How can you be me if I am me?” 

The girl laughed at her response “We are two extensions of the same soul, you represent Clover the persona who’s been running the show while I hid away, but I was always part of you, I just detached myself in a way so I could get a grip with what was going on. You can call me Blossom if you’d like. It wasn’t my name, but it might make wrapping your head around things a little easier.” 

Clover nodded along having her presumptions from her research affirmed, but not quite clear as to what was actually going on as of yet. She tried to think of the most pressing questions never quite sure of how much time she would be able to spend here. 

“Why were you so frantic on our birthday?” Blossom took in a sharp inhale before springing from the bed towards the bookcase. 

“Your birthday,” the girl corrected. 

“I thought you said we were one and the same?” Clover shot back. 

“That is true, but the reason we exist as we do right now is I am the representation of your past life and you are the representation of this life. My birthday wasn’t February 15th, so we are discussing what went down on your birthday right now,” she replied pulling down the same thick tome as the last time and making her way back to the bed beside Clover.

Harry Potter and a bunch of other magic shit, the title read. 

“Whose Harry Potter?” Clover asked.

“A fictional character, for me at least,” the girl started to thumb through the pages “he may or may not be very real for you depending on how everything plays out. He was from one of the best selling children’s novels of all time, and his mother…” she stopped on the page that displayed a young bespectacled boy with untamed dark hair and emerald eyes. 

Behind him were two young adults, presumably his parents.  
The man shared the same dark tousled hair as the boy and had matching circular glasses. His eyes, however, were a warm hazel with an amber base. His smile held a hint of mischief. 

The mother though, shared the boy’s emerald eyes. Vibrant and fierce her eyes alone showed she was prepared for any challenge. Her hair framed her like a halo of flames that flowing down to just beneath her collar bones. Her face was that of her sisters, perhaps more structured and womanly, but her sisters all the same. 

“His mother is Lily Potter né Evans, also known as sister dearest,” Blossom finally finished her sentence. 

“So,” Clover began “my future nephew is the main protagonist of a children’s series?”

“Yes,” said Blossom. 

“And this lead you to lose your mind because…?” Clover pushed. 

“…because Harry was no ordinary boy. He was a wizard. Our sister is no ordinary girl. She is a witch. Which means this is no ordinary world and there is so much shit that’s going to go down that I don’t even know how to begin to prepare ourself” 

Clover had a feeling ourself wasn’t an actual term, but she figured now was not the time to correct Blossom’s grammar. 

“With you here now I think maybe I know where to start…” Blossom trailed off really taking Clover in. 

“The first thing we need to figure out is if we are indeed a witch as well. I mean most Evans sister fanfictions I’ve read make the sister a witch, which I suppose makes sense because there’s really not that much a muggle is capable of doing in the wizarding world. It’s definitely going to put our relationship with Petunia on the ropes which I kind of hope to preserve so she doesn’t become some pathetic housewife in the future, but we’ll figure that out as we go,” Blossom rambled flourishing her hands about as she spoke. 

Clover wasn’t sure what fanfiction or muggles were, but she was sure she didn’t want to harm her relationship with her oldest sister.

“Fanfiction a fan made work in which they write their own scenarios based on other artistic works or sometimes real people. Muggle, the British wizarding term for a non-magical person.” 

“Are you reading my mind?” Clover asked “I am sure I didn’t ask about that outloud.”  
“I told you we are the same person. I just know, okay. Anyways we should probably start to figure this out as soon as possible because all of our future plans hinge on this one fact and if I am being honest, I haven’t noticed any accidental magic since we’ve been living this life and we have about nine months or so until we can expect a letter to come for Lily outlining the existence of the magical world and I would like us to be as prepared as possible before we are thrust into it you get me?”

Clover nodded. She did understand at least as well as she was going to for now. 

“Alright, we’re going to wake up now okay and I’m going to need you to take a shot at this whole magic thing and I’m going to do some digging in the subrealm to see if I can add anything to this book for future use, but remember I’m always right in here if you need me okay?” 

Clover nodded and within moment she was sitting up in her bedroom the start of the morning light beginning to filter through the windows. 

She’s got this. 

Except she didn’t for the next few months all attempts at magic were fruitless, but the lectures she received each night from Blossom on the structure of the Wizarding World and its inhabitants weren’t fruitless. She was sure, if asked to, she could point most characters out in a crowd if she had to, especially Sirius and Remus who Blossom seemed particularly keen on but deflected by claiming she just happened to have read quite a bit of fanfiction on them. 

Then came the day Lily’s letter arrived and no one really knew what to do with the information at first. Suspecting it was just a prank by some well-meaning kids in the neighborhood. That is until Minerva McGonagall in all her cloaked Scottish glory arrived to educate them on the basis of what Blossom had been teaching Clover. 

This all lead up to the moment where Clover found herself in Diagon Alley. She could feel Blossom’s fanatic excitement course through her more prominently than usual, and she was happy the girl was enjoying the sights just as much as she was. 

Petunia, Clover, and their mother waited at an ice cream parlor while they waited for Lily and their father to return from exchanging their money to muggle currency as Professor McGonagall had outlined for them. Which was a shame because Clover really would have loved to see Gringotts, but she supposed this wouldn’t be the last time they went back to school shopping for her sister and there would be another chance.

With money in hand they went about collecting cauldrons, quills, textbooks, robes, and other miscellaneous required items. Eventually it came about time to collect the most important item on the list, the wand. 

Ollivander’s wand shop looked like it was on the brink of collapse and the curled upper lip of her mother and Petunia showed they shared her opinion, but their father and Lily paid no mind entering the shop without a care in the world. 

“Whose there?” the voice of an elderly man called out. He was rummaging around in a crate on the floor his hair silver sticking straight up in the back seeming to defy gravity. 

The family wasn’t sure what to say and at the lack of response the man looked up. 

“Ah, muggle-borns, wait right there,” he said walking down the aisle and disappearing into the back. 

The Evans family shared a look as if to say what exactly is going on. 

After a few minutes the man returned with stacks of long rectangular boxes in his arms. 

“Alright which one of you is it?” 

His eyes passed along Petunia, Lily, and Clover, lingering on the last two for a touch longer than their eldest sister. Lily stepped forward with a confident “Me!” and the man began to ramble out questions as tape measurers and strange tools flying about. 

He’d hand her sister a wand, ask her to give it a swish, and soon after replace it with a new one. This cycle went on for surely an hour until, “10 and ¾, Willow, Unicorn hair core” she gave it a swish, Olivander gave a nod, their father handed over 7 galleons and they were out the door. 

Lily would marvel at her new wand each night along with Clover. Sometimes Petunia would join them, but not this night. 

This night, they were supposed to be retiring early because they would need to wake up at the break of dawn to load the car and drive down to London, but the girls couldn’t help themselves. Especially not Lily who was just buzzing with excitement. She was twirling her wand around in her hand making light appear at the tip of her wand as one of her textbooks had outlined. 

Clover watched on wondering just how cruel the world could be to expose her to magic and then give her none. No wonder Petunia was so angry in the books envy is truly potent. 

“Lily do you think I can hold it for a minute?” Lily smiled at Clover passing it along. 

Clover rolled the smooth wood over in her hand holding it delicately not wanting to break something so precious. 

As a last attempt, before she resolved to giving up on being a witch and learning how to accept her muggle status Clover pointed the wand at the quill residing on the girls desk and with a swish and flick “Wingardium LeviOsa” she called out. 

Nothing happened at first but slowly the feather began to rise, only a few inches before dropping back down on the desk. Clover let out a delirious laugh and she could feel her sisters larger body crash into her as she enveloped her in a delighted hug. 

She knew the universe wouldn’t be so cruel as to make her a muggle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N
> 
> How do you like Blossom? 
> 
> Was the Mrs. Lloyd scenario too abrupt, she will be appearing later... 
> 
> Do you feel the story is moving too slow for your taste? 
> 
> Next Chapter is the last chapter before Hogwarts.


	4. Chapter 4 ~ It Begins

None of the remaining Evan's could claim that they were morning people in the slightest. Sometimes Mother and Petunia would make attempts at pretending. Still, it was so clearly forced that they would give in to their lethargic nature quite quickly. Which is why none should be surprised that Mother had opened the window in the wee hours of the morning to allow an owl to enter their home. Only to return to sleep and forget the entire ordeal. 

Yet, Clover was the only one who failed to be shocked at the large owl perched regally on the kitchen table when she had awoken later that morning. She also was the one to grab a fist of bread and a few sickles leftover from Diagon Alley to appease the bird as she fetched the letters from it. 

Dearest Clover, 

I am writing from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and Clove it is spectacular. I have never seen such a place before. It is a real castle Clove! I think it is somewhere in the hills of Scotland if I am not mistaken, but the castle is so large and complex that I have gotten lost twice on my way back to my room from supper this evening. 

You are sorted into houses here. I was sorted into Gryffindor. Our symbol is the lion, and they say it is the house of the brave at heart. Have you managed to do any more magic since I left? I really miss you. I need to finish writing my letters to Mum and Dad and Petunia, but I hope you are well and please write me soon. 

Sincerely yours,   
Lily

The letter was a bit shorter than she was hoping, already feeling the loss of her older sister back home. Still, she had an idea just how captivating the halls of Hogwarts could be and was holding onto the hope that she would one day wander them herself.

"Clover dear, hurry up you don't want to be late for school" her mother called. 

Clover quickly shoved the letter back into its envelope, assuring herself she would write a reply when returning home. She fixed her knapsack on her back, hurling goodbyes to her parents and Petunia with one foot out the door. 

She made it to school in record time. She took a seat at a table somewhere near the back of the class, hoping the teacher was already aware of her circumstances. She just wanted to comfortably let her mind drift off from the lesson with a book in her hand. 

"Good morning what's your name?" called the teacher, Mr Clarke, to presumably Clover who was the only other person in the room at the moment.

"I am Clover Evans sir," she replied, pulling out her composition notebook and a few other school supplies. 

"The Clover Evans I've been hearing about?" he asked, and Clover finally brought her head up from her bag to take a look at her teacher. 

He was young, probably in his late twenties if Clover was not mistaken, with rich brown hair and eyes of a similar hue. He must have been a new teacher because Clover had never seen him around nor heard of him before. He wore a smile which she assumed was meant to insinuate it was good things he was hearing. 

"I suppose that depends sir on what you've been hearing," she offered a polite smile back. 

"Only good things I promise. I am looking forward to a nice school year together. I believe cooperative learning is imperative to the growth of students," he told her. Seems no one has debriefed him on how her schooling situation is supposed to go down. 

"…so I won't be having any solitary work in my class this year that you may have found in your other classes. I hope you learn to work well with others this year Ms. Evans," or perhaps they had. 

Clover knew from that moment, it would be an incredibly long year for her, and if the first month was anything to go by it was. 

He had barred her from reading any of her books during class time, pushing her to read aloud with others in her group children's novels. He claimed they were teaching crucial moral values. 

He wouldn't allow her to hand in any worksheet until she had gone over her answers with at least two other students. The time it typically took her nearly tripled. 

Most importantly, whenever she seemed to be drifting off in even the slightest bit, he would use her as an example to illustrate concepts. 

Why could he not just call on her like any other teacher would? 

Mr Clarke was infuriating, and Blossom agreed to an extent. She claimed she knew where he was coming from, but if she was the one at the reigns, she would be a middle school drop-out had their attendance at Hogwarts not been on the ropes this coming year. 

To make matters worse school was brutally draining. Far more than Blossom claimed she remembered it being and to Clover, it was much worse than it had been in past years. It wasn't necessarily because she was around kids. After all, they were edging towards an age where they could hold decent conversations. Though not exceptionally high level, not that Clover herself was well socially developed, just well-read. 

No, Clover found that just talking to people she didn't know well seemed to suck the life out of her for lack of better words, anyone, the students, the teachers, the office ladies. She never really talked much beyond her immediate family aside from Mrs Lloyd. The latter already was a headache and a half. Due to this, she had never realized it before, but it was awful. Without supernatural powers to be seen beyond that magical moment back at the beginning of September, Clover was beginning to wonder how she would make it through secondary school for a second time. 

She soon determined that the answer was she wouldn't make it and really Hogwarts was her only option. 

"Clover, another letter from your sister has come in!" her mother called when she entered the door none too eloquently tossing her bag to the floor and kicking off her shoes. 

"Just a minute," she called back "I'll just be getting changed." 

She stripped off her uniform opting for one of Lily's old jumpers and a pair of denim trousers.

Strolling down the stairs two at a time she swiped the letter addressed to her off the table. She admired her older sister's humorously scratchy penmanship, who was still getting accustomed to writing with a quill. 

My dearest Clover, 

I have just read your letter, and I saw that it was dated nearly three weeks ago! I am sorry for responding so late. I hope that Mr Clarke is treating you far better now. 

He was not, but there was no need to bother her sister with that when she wanted to hear all about her life at Hogwarts. 

As for your question about my classes, there are no subjects like maths or geography here at Hogwarts as you might expect. We do have history, though, but it is the history of magic. My other classes include Transfiguration (which is turning one thing into another with magic), Charms (which is full of practical spells and eventually duelling spells), Potions (which is a bit like the chemistry you are always reading about), and Herbology (which is a magical gardening class). As first years we also have Astronomy once a week where we climb up this massive tower at midnight to look at the stars and flying class where they teach us how to fly on brooms! I don't quite like the feel of flying on a broom, but the whole idea of it makes it still so exciting. 

I have made a few friends in my year so far, there is Marlene and Mary who I share a room with, and Philomena who is my friend from Charms class. She is in Ravenclaw, one of the other houses. Severus also was sorted into a different house than me, Slytherin, like his Mum. I think he is really happy to be there, though. We had met these two boys on the train who made fun of him wanting to be in Slytherin and unfortunately they are both in Gryffindor with me. Their names are James and Sirius, and they are both insufferably arrogant. I don't understand how they even have friends!

I hope you are well. Have you managed magic again (sorry for asking again, but you hadn't answered me the first time)? Please write back soon. I missed you too. 

Your big sister who loves you very much,  
Lily

P.S. Marlene had shared with me some of her chocolate frogs (wizard sweets) and they come with these really cool trading cards. I got two Carlotta Pinkstone cards so I thought I would send you one to start your own collection!

Clover pulled out the pentagonal card and admired the beautiful gold frame it depicted despite the witch in question nowhere to be found. She flipped over the card to skim the facts on the back. 

'Famous campaigner for lifting the International Confederation of Wizard's Statute of Secrecy and telling non-magical folks that wizards still exist. Ms. Pinkstone has been imprisoned several times for her blatant and deliberate use of magic in public places.'

She studied the card as much as possible, hoping to commit it to memory to ask Blossom more about it during their talk that night. Still, it prompted a thought that Clover hadn't much deliberated upon before. 

Why was the Wizarding World so separate?

Blossom had told her that much of the future conflict arose from supremacists who believed wizards to be superior to non-magical folk. Though they were framed in the series to be the outliers in society, it didn't sound as if the belief in wizarding superiority was their divergent trait. Instead, the view that non-magical folk should die for their inferior status made them different from most others in the Wizarding World. 

However, the idea that muggles were inferior was a persisting belief in most who hailed from Wizarding society and truly Clover couldn't help but wonder why. 

Father had allowed her to buy a copy of a History of Magic vol. 1, along with her sister claiming they could "buy out the whole store with what a bargain everything was considering Gringotts exchange rate." Which Clover figured she would be taking advantage of at some later time, but for now what really intrigued her was the source point of this widespread prejudice. 

She scoured the book after finishing off a letter back to Lily, thanking her for the card and asking her what her favourite subject was and other meaningless filler questions. She would be seeing her sister soon enough for Christmas and Clover was quickly realizing that letter-writing is such an unsatisfactory method of communicating with an eleven-year-old. 

Other than the apparent witch hunt of the mid-1400s which were set against other muggles more often than not, except for Wendelin the Weird whom would get herself caught on purpose to be burned at the stake for fun, Clover failed to find much pertaining to muggle-wizard conflict. Not that the witch hunt would not have been an enormously damaging factor in muggle-wizard relations. However, since the International Statute of Secrecy was officially established in 1692, it was almost as if all contact with the muggle world ceased. 

After a few scoldings from her mother for bringing the giant tome with her to supper, Clover settled herself into bed that night. The often-long process of slipping into her mindscape was nearly instantaneous. 

"Well, well, well, Mademoiselle," Blossom began with an abysmal and borderline offensive French accent, "it seems you have stumbled upon the one question that has been plaguing me and frankly many other readers for ages. Although I shouldn't be too impressed that you managed to start thinking about this so early, our Clover is a smart cookie!"

Did this constitute as vanity since she was praising the other personification of herself? 

Clover didn't ask this instead of opting for a simple correction, "biscuit."

Blossom barked out a laugh "False, biscuits are the buttery doughy pastries that are served with dinner and sometimes coated in gravy depending on where you live." 

"That would be a scone," Clover corrected again. 

Blossom rolled her eyes "Scones are different, but that doesn't matter. Also, smart biscuit sounds stupid. Sometimes all this British vernacular drives me insane." 

Pulling out her hair tie and retying her bun Blossom tried to once more vocalize her thoughts, "Okay, again, doesn't matter. What does matter is that I have been dying to talk to someone about my theories on the root of wizarding prejudice and how their ministry and Hogwarts itself push this narrative which in turn is actually impeding the growth and development of Wizarding Society. I mean it's not really my own theory because I did watch a lot of videos and read probably way too many books and articles on this kind of thing, but the principle is still there." 

"You really did die to talk to someone about this…" Clover poked fun at Blossom and said girl nearly tore her hair out at how that seemed to be the only thing she caught from all she'd just said. 

"My god! You really are in rare form today. Okay, fine then, you lead what were your thoughts on this? I saw the Carlotta Pinkstone card you memorized for me, she seems like a cool witch." 

Blossom settled back against the mound of pillows at the head of the bed, the giant magic book resting in her lap. 

"My research so far has really come up with nothing. There was the witch hunt in the medieval times, and allegedly wizards and witches had lived together in harmony before then, but after they established the Statute there was nothing. I do own only the one book though so I can't be too sure if it is really showing the whole picture," Clover admitted, and Blossom nodded along listening intently. 

"That's as far as my understanding as well. The books themselves didn't lend to any larger conflict occurring to cause the divide. There were a number of mentioned breaches in the Statute through history, like you saw with Pinkstone and I think a major one in America, but they have a whole other crazy history of muggle wizard relations over there that I don't have the mind nor time to discuss right now. It makes you wonder though, how they managed to stay so divided right?" 

Clover did wonder. She supposed that a law prohibiting discussion of virtually everything they know was a pretty strong deterrent, and she voiced this to Blossom. 

"That is true, but it gets me to one of the major points of the theory. There is nothing in the Statute that says wizards can't talk to muggles. There was a general prejudice towards muggles following the witch trials which has sustained in part over the generations, but as the years go by and those events weren't witnessed first hand it loses its power in deterring curiosity, right? Are you following me?" 

"I think I am, continue," Clover assured.

"Wizarding society wants to promote this prejudice because it lends to dividing these two subgroups and in turn promotes unwavering faith in their system of government. How?" Blossom paused for dramatic effect. 

"Their schooling systems fail to teach critical thinking and instead reward rote memorization and dissuade experimentation. Meanwhile continuously pushing the narrative that high level thinking and problem solving is an element of an eccentric personality that one is born with rather than fostered over time. Though praised for their accomplishments figures with these characteristics are thought of as undesirable or oddballs and pushed often to the fringes of society. Dumbledore, being both an example and an exception." 

Blossom pulled out a chocolate frog card from her giant Harry Potter book that resembled the one she had received from Lily earlier and passed it to Clover. 

"This is all to develop learned helplessness where graduates of Hogwarts, which is deemed the greatest wizarding school in the world by the British Isles, are entirely reliant on others for direction."

The concept Blossom was trying to portray was beginning to make more and more sense to Clover, but she wasn't quite ready to drink the poison on this one as of yet. 

"They are armed with various knowledge of spells, but have no concept of how they work, nor the ability to utilize them in ways other than they are taught. They are easily controlled, which is fantastic for a government who wants to enact total authority over its people. A characteristic of fascism which was one of the major concepts the novels were attempting to portray alongside Voldemort who was modelled after Hitler and the atrocities committed in World War II." 

Blossom hoped the historical context would help Clover later connect the dots on what is to come. Though, mentioning future tension with death eaters and Voldemort, she had not yet begun to relay what actually was to come in the Wizarding War fearing it was far too much for Clover's ten-year-old mind to handle still. 

"Wizards are raised with this mental dependence from young and it is a vicious cycle perpetuated by wizarding parents. The same parents who are only aware of the system of which they are confined in. Thus only passing on a way of thinking to their children that they had been taught themselves. Perhaps by this point the indoctrination isn't even intentional, but I believe it is, do you know why?" she asked Clover hoping to hone those critical thinking skills she had just been harping about. 

Clover tried to think based on everything she'd read and everything she'd just heard. To her, it seemed as if this system was so old and rooted in systematic evils of the past that even the highest of officials would no longer be aware of it. 

"Mmmm, true and false. Around the same era of the witch trials and wizarding recession from the non-magical world was also the start of the era of imperialism. A major result of imperialism was the establishment of races as a justification of dominating and oppressing other peoples to the point of genocide in some cases on the basis of inferiority. Natives and Africans were deemed savage and senseless living in tribal settings as compared to their European counterparts 'who upheld the pillars of sophisticated society' in their cities with their roads and written government. This should sound familiar to how the wizards would view their magic capabilities as compared to their muggle neighbors or really anyone other than wizards," Blossom hinted, thinking of the treatment of house-elves and goblins. 

"So, the prejudice is more than a product of the witch hunt?" Clover asked. 

"Yes, the witch hunt can be better thought of as an event that was later used to justify the distinction of wizards as a separate and superior group to muggles. Wizarding magic at the time was far more advances than the technology of the time in the muggle world, and overall hysteria did not lend too well to promoting muggle intelligence. However, we are well aware of the advances muggle society have made in culture and technology since then."

Clover agreed with this statement. She would even dare say that some muggle advances seemed to outperform their wizarding counterparts, such as the ink and quill, which was incredibly archaic. 

"Exactly my point! However, being so detached the wizards would never know what they are missing out on, they can't desire something greater if they are unaware that this something greater exists or is even possible. Who is a liability to this bubble they've created though?" Blossom posed the question hoping Clover would understand where she was leading her this time. 

"Muggleborns" Clover said almost instantly. 

"Yes! As such, there have been innovations in wizarding society which paralleled the muggle world, such as plumbing or the Hogwarts express, but for the most part even with these children raised outside of the wizarding indoctrination system the divide between the societies still stands strong. Which brings us back to where we started this conversation, it's hard to talk to muggles when everything you know is magic and the discussion of magic is legally prohibited right?" 

"Right," Clover reaffirmed now hanging on firmly to each word Blossom said. 

"Thus, in order to keep this divide, one must separate the muggle-born from the muggle. They do this by essentially forcing one to cut their muggle identity from the roots, distancing themselves from family members and denouncing muggle technology, in order to assimilate into wizarding society. It is one of the main reasons, aside from jealousy, that I believe caused the divide between Lily and Petunia in the books," Blossom completed for now. 

"But Lily and Petunia are still on speaking terms. So maybe there is some divergence from the series you read," Clover pondered allowed. 

"I think that has more to do with you being here, thus her not being the only non-magical Evans than anything else. I mean just think about how disconnected those letters made you feel from Lily, and you have more of an idea of what magic and Hogwarts is like than any other person in this house. Hogwarts students only come home for the summer and sometimes winter holiday to spend with their families, a little over three months a year, and are within the Hogwarts bubble for the remainder of time. Additionally, they are taught none of the necessary subjects like maths, or science, or English, to reassimilate themselves back into muggle society so they are effectively forced to remain within the wizarding world." 

The whole explanation was beginning to make Clover wonder if she wanted to attend Hogwarts if this psychological manipulation is what she had waiting for her. 

"If you want to draw a parallel, I would compare it to the United States' perception of 'white people'. The original settlers who have been in the US for a long time can be comparable to the Sacred 28." 

Clover had recently been briefed on the Sacred 28 and thought it was a load of rubbish. 

"The Irish, though once not considered part of white society have long since established themselves and can thus be considered the 'purebloods' not acknowledged as part of the Sacred 28," she added seeming to deliberate if this was an accurate comparison. 

"¬Other more recent European immigrants, and by that, I mean up to 2nd or 3rd generation are comparable to half-bloods, making up the bulk of white American society, they reap the benefits of not being considered filth like the muggle-borns or muggles, but because of their status are able to reject the blame of atrocities committed by the 'purebloods' despite being equally ignorant often times and perpetuating the same systems," Blossom looked Clover deep in the eyes to check that she understood that line. 

"Their struggles as half-bloods are valid when detailing the inequities, they face against purebloods who hold major advantages in wizarding society, but this does not exempt them from being accountable from harmful behavior they engage in towards muggle-borns and muggles. Muggle-borns being 'white passing' immigrants of various other descents such as Latino, Middle Eastern, or sometimes Asian. The remaining ethnic groups in the United States can be considered muggles. Muggles will never be considered wizards in the same way that a non-white passing minority will never be considered white. Yet, the others, so long as they denounce their roots outside of the white American narrative, their muggle roots, can be acknowledged as part of the ingroup." 

Clover curled in her toes, looking down at her hands. She had done a lot of reading about American history, and current events because they were easier to understand for her than her own British history probably because she was drawing from Blossom's education. Due to this, she knew how messy and deep-rooted the systems of inequity were, and from what Blossom said, they would remain to be for far into the future. 

"What do I do then?" Clover asked, suddenly feeling far more helpless than she had for as long as she could remember. "Why should I want to go to Hogwarts if they are just going to try to brainwash me?" 

"Oh my goodness why would you ever think to give up on Hogwarts! I was drawing parallels, but the two circumstances are not the same. The wizarding society has threatened to collapse in on itself so many times because of their insistence on this separation that its bound to change on its own. No, I was just warning you to not give up what you know or what you came from when you go there. Magic is fucking cool and useful and it can be damn more useful if you knew how it worked and why it worked and thought of knew ways to make it work better." 

Clover wasn't sure if she could say that ten times fast.

"Do you get what I mean?" Blossom asked thinking it should be her catchphrase at this point.

"I'm telling you not to lose yourself to be a part of something because you know who you are and that is a muggle-born witch who doesn't need to prove to anyone that she is a witch because the sheer fact that she can do magic is enough to prove that!" 

"We only were able to perform magic once," Clover reminded. 

"That's enough for me," Blossom shot back. "Seriously though, don't forget your roots, don't forget Petunia. I think she turned to someone as unappealing as Vernon Dursley because he was the only one who reaffirmed that her 'muggle-ness' had value unlike what everything her parents and sister and their acquaintances from wizarding society were preaching." 

Clover let a tear slip out because she noticed that despite her letter being longer this time around there was one fewer letter sitting on the table that afternoon.

Petunia had sent out a letter with Clover the last time as well, so she hadn't been the one to break communication. Likewise, Petunia couldn't have already grabbed hers because she was at her friend Susan's helping her bake Viennese sandwiches for the boy that Susan fancied. 

Intentionally or not her older sister had left out the most senior of their triad and Clover couldn't help but wonder if she only remembered to message Clover because she had shown signs of magic as well. 

Whatever the reason, Clover had taken this chat to heart. Blossom knew it because after Clover had faded from the bedroom to start her day that morning, Blossom had taken a stroll down memory lane and placed on a pedestal with armored casing was the reel of their chat playing on repeat for any who wished to view it.

Time would tell, though. Blossom was trying to teach Clover to the best of her abilities, but she was starting to regret splitting her consciousness in those early years. Mostly as she wondered if she could effectively inform her younger personification in time without pushing her past the limits her natural development would allow. Clover and she may be two sides of the same coin, but Clover's side was shiny and new, untouched by the elements that wished to weather it, and despite it being impossible to keep her this way, Blossom wanted to preserve this for as long as she could. 

Time quickly sped by though, without anything particularly noteworthy occurring. As expected of Cokesworth. 

After the talk with Blossom, Clover had stuck to Petunia like glue whenever she was around, and the elder sister preened under the attention. More than happy to teach her everything she knew. The girls could be found in the kitchen baking or in Petunia's room as she flipped through magazines explaining which passages got it right and which were behind the times. She had taken to walking the younger sister to school each morning as well.

Even when Lily had joined the mix on Christmas, it was almost as if she had never left the three of them chatting and laughing together like when they were young. Clover made it her mission to keep the conversations from focusing on magic despite her sister being so eager to share to not isolate Petunia. It proved to be enormously influential. Thus, the holidays were celebrated joyously, and the girls begrudgingly parted soon into the new year returning to the same routine reformatted for two. 

Until February came and February 15th was met with an extra letter than the three they were expecting from Lily. 

One addressed to a Ms Clover Blossom Evans. Despite Clover's personal elation from discovering that her outburst of magic in September was indeed enough, she did not miss the falling features on her sisters face as she too acknowledged what that letter meant. Her parents congratulated her and Petunia had attempted a smile, but the two sisters sat in silence as their parents proclaimed how happy they were to have not only one but two witches in the family. 

School that day passed by in a blur and even to the best of his abilities Mr Clarke could not engage Clover, leading him to become cross for the first time his students had ever seen and send her out into the hall. 

She returned home that day still lost in her head and by that means sitting in that quaint internal bedroom as she sobbed in Blossom's arms because she didn't want her oldest sister to hate her like Blossom had warned. At this point, the body was on autopilot, changing its clothes, and completing homework, as the two internal personas contemplated what to do. 

"It's going to be okay," Blossom cooed running her fingers as well as she could through Clover's curly tangles. "You just need to talk with your sister, and listen, really listen to how she feels. This made her feel isolated. This is the moment where you show her that you have no intention of disconnecting from her like Lily inadvertently did." 

It took hours after they'd arrived home, through supper, for Clover to be soothed from her breakdown. When she returned to the external world, the first thing she did was burst into her sister's room and throw herself into her arms, tears springing up again, but real physical one's this time. 

"Please don't hate me Tuney, I don't know what I would do if you hate me!" she cried out. 

So much for taking the time to just listen to how her sister feels. 

"I don't hate you Clover. What made you think that?" her sister replied eyebrows scrunching as she pushed her sister off of her to hold her at arm's length. 

"I won't forget you. I need you Tuney, your my biggest sister and who else is going to look out for me if not you?" Clover continued to sob, still delirious, but she could catch the small bit of souring on Petunia's face. 

"Lily is your older sister, she could look out for you too," Petunia softly reminded despite the sinking feeling in her stomach she felt at the thought. 

"It's not the same! Lily is the sister who tells me new things and shows me new places. She's no good at making sure that I look presentable, or if I ate today. She doesn't remember what music I like so that when I'm sad she could put on my favourite record and cheer me up. She doesn't go out of her way to make me ginger tea with honey when my throat is sore. I love Lily and she is a great sister, but she is Lily. I only have one Petunia and I don't want to give her up!" 

By the end of the youngest Evan's speech, the oldest sister was spilling her tears as well; crashing her sister back into her embrace and they sobbed together in each other's hold. Petunia voiced her worries that night, and Clover alleviated them. Something Blossom was sure had never happened the original time around. 

By the next morning, the bond was not only restored but more durable than ever. By the next week, Petunia was making a list of all the things they would have to do before she could be satisfied sending the youngest off to Hogwarts. Such as, teaching her all about boys and which types to stay away from, which Blossom took the care of correcting each night. 

By the next month, Lily had heard the news and congratulated her sister on her acceptance, noting how excited she was to show her around Hogwarts.   
By the time summer rolled around and Clover finally said her final farewell to Mr Clarke happy to rid him from her life for good, the future was looking up. 

They had made it to the Leaky Cauldron the same seedy entrance point to Diagon Alley they had entered through just a year prior. Entering the world the first time was exciting and all she dreamed of and more, but they came for Lily, it wasn't quite her world. 

This time as the bricks shifted their way around to form the entryway to the lively cobbled streets, the feeling was surreal. 

This is where the journey begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 
> 
> This is the last of my prewritten chapters so updates will be likely once a week from here. 
> 
> Let me know if you prefer the shorter 2-3,000 words of the first two chapters or the longer 4-6,000 that the last two chapters have been. 
> 
> Also we’re off to Hogwarts in the next chapter so let me know what house you think I’ll have little Clover Blossom sorted in. I know where I wanted her from the start because I’m biased, but I’m curious as to what you guys think. 
> 
> Final thoughts, please let me know if you’re happy with the pacing of this story. I’ve tried writing before, but this is my first genuine shot at writing something full length novel sized and I want your opinions on how you feel about the way I have it unfolding. 
> 
> For example, is this moving too slow for you? 
> 
> Do you not like the conversations with Clover and Blossom and would rather me just reference them instead. 
> 
> I would love your feedback negative or positive. 
> 
> Thank you, 
> 
> Elle


	5. Chapter 5 ~ A little mad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years Everyone! I might have bit the bullet in posting this because there are definitely mistakes, but I will be editing again in the morning when I have more than half a brain. If you are still willing to read please enjoy.

One could scour every dictionary of both languages old and new and still never find enough words to capture simply the essence of Gringotts. 

Doubly so as the witch's ¬view of the epic marble metropolis is only a glamour over the even more intricate and bejewelled design fitting of the goblin's domain. Or so Nagnok, the goblin responsible with opening Clover's Gringotts account and exchanging her father's measly muggle currency into a pouch of coins, tells.

Unfortunately, because they were only there to deposit and exchange there was no roller-coaster-esque minecart ride through the catacombs to ensue. Still, Nagnok did assure she would have a particularly jerky and nauseating trip to look forward to when she would visit her vault next time.

Blossom liked to think that Nagnok and her bonded when she fed question after question to Clover to ask the irritable goblin.

Clover liked to think that Blossom lacked social awareness as she watched the goblin dig his talons at the desk. Even when merely catching the sight of Clover's mouth open in his peripheral.

Nonetheless, father and Clover had left Gringotts wholly intact without driving a goblin to homicide so one could call their trip a success. Although her father swore that the pouch felt a few coins lighter than the last time.

Mother, Petunia, and Lily were waiting for them at the same ice cream shop they had stopped by during their first trip to Diagon Alley. It wasn't Florean Fortescue's, in fact, the shop itself lacked a sign to give it a name. Instead, just a giant stone waffle cone was fixed above its door. Swirling 'ice cream' would fill it to a perfect point before dematerializing and starting over to indicate the store's contents.

Clover could recall her mother pointing this out the last time they had shopped in Diagon Alley, but when she posed this to Father, he laughed at her and claimed what more could she want. He thought their 'sign' served its purpose well enough. Lily agreed. Petunia took her mother's side. Clover just enjoyed the taste of her banana and mint ice cream which had received a sceptical look from everyone in her family.

With a tummy thoroughly chilled, a tiring day of shopping began, as they were starting from a clean slate with Clover on collecting various wizarding school supplies. It had been a year, though, and magic is always exciting, so no one was complaining.

First was a dusty apothecary, which her father had seen a bargain sign for, where they sought to collect their potion ingredients. The three Evan's sisters had to eventually usher their parents out of the store after a shouting match broke out. All due to their mother's off-handed comment that the ingredients were likely expired by the state of things.

Which lead them to a far less dingy apothecary. There their father begrudgingly handed over a small pile of galleons and sickles. In exchange, they collected nearly all of Lily's potions supply list and Clover's crystal vials and cauldron; Mother called him a child on their way out.

They were then off to a store of gadgets and gizmos where her mother admired the self-mixing bowls. Petunia was fawning over the magical water-repellent spray that she claimed would be perfect for her new Oxfords.

It was here that they picked up Clover's telescope, as an unfortunate accident, read deliberate prank, had broken Lily's last year. Clover personally loved it, it was silver with the constellations, and astrological symbols etched into its metal. Not to mention she pressed a button, and it would set itself up, no hassle required on Clover's part, just how she likes it.

Next was to Flourish and Blotts. To say Clover had a field day would be the most incredible understatement of this generation. She toured through every aisle not once, not twice, but thrice. The stack of books would have torn off her arms had her father and Petunia not swooped in to lighten the load. Her father was beginning to nag the young child if she really needed all the books when her mother pointedly reminded that she never asked for anything. They had also treated Lily to several books last year. That quieted him but didn't stop him from asking if she really needed ‘101 Beauty Spells, Potions, and Concoctions for the Modern Witch' when they approached the checkout counter.

Clover assured him that she did, knowing that Petunia would love to take a look at a magical beauty routine. Clover was more than happy to whip up a couple of concoctions for her older sister during her spare time at Hogwarts.

Then they headed off to Madam Malkins, where not only was Clover fitted for her robes, but Petunia had measuring tape and pins swirling around her as well. They had not been more than a minute in the shop before Petunia's exceptionally long neck had caught the eye of the fashion apprentice. He was probably seventeen at the most, and his suave Italian accent had Petunia melt like putty in his hand as she followed him up onto the soapbox.

Unfortunately, time was of the essence, and Clover was still in need of a wand. So, at the reassurance of Petunia and mother that they would be fine in Madam Malkins, Clover, Lily, and Father went to Ollivanders.

It was just as broken down as she had remembered although she was pretty sure the sign had an 'O' for Ollivanders last time. Walking through the door, she was careful to watch her step as it was coated in shards of glass from what appeared to be a shattered vase.

"You're back. I knew you would be. Had that feeling about you, girl" an old voice called not from behind the counter, but from behind the Evans' backs causing all three to jump, heir father just a bit higher than they.

The batty looking old man was sat on a stool in the corner by the door whittling away at a small chunk of wood in his hand. Blossom could've sworn she could see the beginning of a house-elf ear taking form, but Clover reminded her that they had yet to have seen a house-elf in the flesh. 

"Why is that?" Clover asked in a moment of bravery, or maybe she just became uncomfortable with the lingering silence in the room.

The old man didn't respond only offering her a crude smile as if to insinuate he knew something she didn't. He did place down his wooden block though and edged his way to the back of the store only to return moments later with a single long box.

"Beech and Cedar, phoenix feather core, 11 ¾ inches, incredibly springy" he cited out as he lifted the cover unveiling the smooth contours of the stained black wood. Despite the finish, the flecks of different coloured grains were apparent throughout. Each wood was apparently shredded to small shards before meticulously pieced back together into the wand. 

Clover could feel a swirling fizzy sensation pulling within her. Still, she didn't want to give the smug man the satisfaction of a dumbfounded response. Instead, she slowly strides across the room, careful to pace her steps before stopping an arm's length away from where the wand was floating above the counter.

Hesitantly she reaches out to take the wand in her grasp, and it's as if she was born for the third time. The rush of something indescribable coursed through her in a closed circuit of sorts. Like a wave that broke at the fingertips, she curved around the wand before receding back into her toes.

"I knew she'd been waiting for you. That will be six galleons," the man called out making his way to the till.

For the first time since they'd entered her father spoke, "It was five galleons the last time we were here."

"That was the last time and this is this time. Six galleons," the elder reaffirmed. Lily slipping the pouch from her father's belt loop counted out the coins before dropping them on the counter, earning a grateful smile from Clover. Neither girl was keen on listening to the two men banter with each other for the next hour or so. 

They'd nearly made it out the door their father's shirt sleeves in hand when they were forced to come to a stop with the delicate door swinging on its hinges not an inch from their nose.

Should one's complete opposite exist, the Evans would tell you they were looking at them. Mudblood eyes met pureblood, black robes contrasted the summery array of muggle fashion, cold sneers broke down the lighthearted pouting of the Evans patriarch.

"Madame Black, I have been expecting young Regulus. Yes, yes please come in," the wandmaker called diffusing a bit of the tension. The sour look on the woman's face did not drop, but she did side-step the Evans family without a word her boys trailing along at her coattails.

That was Regulus and Sirius Black? 

The taller of the two had silver eyes colder than the most boreal tundra. The smaller's matching grey eyes were simply devoid of anything really, no sparkle, no-sheen, no life. She couldn't recall much of their faces as they left the room the feel of warning shivers wracking her spine as they made their way down the street. Their eyes, however, seemed to be burned within her brain and she found her thoughts trailing back to them over and over as they made the drive back from London to Cokesworth.

Father and Lily said not a word of this encounter to their mother and Petunia. It seemed all three were equally unsettled by the ominous sinking sensation that coated the air around the Black matriarch.

However, really nothing came of that and the remainder of the summer past by with little to note.

Clover had gone out of her way to engage all three of her sisters when she could. A stark contrast to her more passive personality in the past. Still, none were complaining as they revelled in the limited time they had.

Severus had acknowledged Clover with a few words, "So you are a witch," and that was the extent of their conversation.

Blossom had become more and more hyperactive as the days counted down. She would be found organizing and reorganizing the mindscape to quote "See if that old sorting hat can make his arbitrary superficial reading outta this one."

Clover didn't really know what that meant, but she hadn't wanted to interrupt the girl, so she spent most of her time in the external world and was more than happy that way.

It was none too soon when September first arrived, and though trunks were packed the night before it took everything within the girls to pull on their clothes and fix their hair as they disembarked at the break of dawn. As per the tradition started with Lily, they would be picking up Severus before stopping in for a bite to eat at a local diner near the station.

None were too eager to wait out on the platform of King's cross today. The bitter windchill would be none too comfortable for the Evans-Snape troupe who were without the ever-useful warming charms to comfort them. However, 10 a.m. arrived and considering the station's bustle, the family figured it was better to be cold now than to miss the train.

Petunia, father and Clover had waited in the diner the last time Lily had been sent off to Hogwarts acutely aware that muggles could not enter the platform on their own. Considering this fact, it was particularly amusing to Blossom and Petunia to watch Snape take father's hand and escort him.

However, when it came time for Petunia to enter herself, she did little to hide the nerves that overtook her as they approached at a jogging pace. Her heart rate soon returned to normal when she was exposed to the fact that they had entered just fine and were met with the sight of wizards and witches of all types.

Some wore more traditional wizarding clothes from the heeled boots to billowing robes, to the saggy pointed hat. Others had a queer mix of muggle and wizarding garb with button-up shirts and suspenders under distinctly Victorian cloaks with a shining gold pocket watch in hand. Even still, others appeared more like the Evans family and stuck out like a sore thumb in their brightly coloured collared dresses and simple monochromatic suits.

Clover let out a short laugh as she watched Petunia gawk.

The train hadn't arrived, but the girls and Severus made their way towards the edge of the platform, parents close behind.

Not long after, Severus had his name called out from a young boy further down on the platform. He said his goodbyes to the Evans striding with moxie she had never seen the fragile boy don before. Her mother's eye watched over the boy like a hawk until she found him safely in the company of a, particularly conservative looking family.

Blossom reckons it was a survival tactic for the little Slytherin.

Lily looked like she had just faced the greatest betrayal. However, she soon turned her attention to Clover to recount everything she could remember of the train and what the ride would be like. Ignoring the fact Clover would not be experiencing it for herself in less than an hour.

She listened half-heartedly though until the time came. With the assistance of an older boy, likely fifth year, she hauled her trunk onto the train, slipping into a compartment with her sister seated across.

Lily's mouth was still running a mile a minute. Although, Clover had long realized that the girl was just talking for the sake of talking and was none too concerned with whether Clover was listening or not.  
Thus, with her head resting against the cool glass of the window Clover slipped into her mind for what might very well have been the first time and weeks.

She was shocked and almost impressed by the fact that she could not recognize much of anything. Long gone was the quaint bedroom she had come to know in place of a pleasantly decorated outdoor garden surrounded by walls of hedges.

The grass was a thick, full vibrant green only broken up by a smooth stone trail and a small pond which frogs and koi inhabited. Butterflies were floating around, flitting from one patch of flowers to the next. There was a simple white metal table and chairs stationed at the end of the path. Beside it was a matching cushioned swing seat. There sat Blossom comfortably looking out over the scenery she had designed, tilting her head back and forth to the sound of bird songs that filled the air.

She was dressed in a simple white dress with a matching white scarf tied like a headband to hold back her curls.

Clover was sure she had lost it.

"Welcome Clover dearest to my most wonderous creation as of yet! I call it the garden of reflection," she proclaimed pointedly ignoring the younger girls concerns.

"This is what you've been working on for the past month?" Clover asked crouching by the pond to see she too was dressed in a similar white fashion.

"In part, this is the last piece to my design. I've mostly been working on structuring the fortress over there where most of the substance is. Also, figuring out how to manufacture the hurricane was pretty fun." 

Clover looked up to where she was gesturing and noticed the tall black neoclassical castle that she had somehow missed on the first look around.

If she squinted, she could see off in the far distance a strong gust of wind whipping around what seemed to be leaves and bits of parchment.

"Their little dumb tidbits I wrote for anyone who would want to invade our mind. Mostly Dad's knock knock jokes and the books Mr. Clarke had us read which I purged from the knowledge archives. The leaves are a few copies of memories I made from our childhood, none too intimate, but it's pretty hard to get through the winds if you aren't really experienced so most people will just accept what they find in there and leave."

Clover nodded along, not sure what the purpose of all this was, but accepting that it was pretty spectacular now that she'd gotten over the shock.

"The purpose, my little lovely, is that we are about to enter wizarding school and if you haven't realized that poses a bit of a problem considering our foreknowledge."  
"How so?" the younger challenged.

"You've seen it before, with Mrs. Lloyd. Wizards and witches, at least those skilled in the art, have the ability to enter others minds. Usually, I'd assume they are not nearly as built up and structured as ours, but they can enter none the less. The headmaster, Dumbledore, for instance is particularly skilled in this art," Blossom explained to receive a blank stare from Clover in response.

"This is a bad thing because in the wrong hands the type of knowledge we hold can be devastating," Blossom continued.

Clover picked a thornless rose from its bush and let it roll between her fingers "…devastating in the hands of our headmaster?" she asked.

"Potentially," Blossom didn't sound too sure.

"We've never met the man. I can say Lily and Petunia were not the way they were portrayed in the books, but Lily was barely portrayed, and Petunia was only really seen as a woman. I believe in innocence until proven guilty, but I also subscribe to playing my cards close to my chest," she trailed off. It was the first time since Clover had formally made her acquaintance that the older girl appeared serious.

It aged her making her appear to be closer to her twenties than the youthful impression she typically gave.

"Regardless, would you like a tour? I made a few changes inside too, and I assure you it is far more modern than the exterior would imply," Blossom claimed face brightening. Grabbing Clover's hand, they made their way through the ivy arch and into the formidable castle.

Clover and Blossom explored each and every floor, from the basement level sub-realm up to the familiar bedroom penthouse she now sought for comfort. Clover hadn't realized one could grow fatigued within their own mind, but Blossom reminded that mental strain was very real.

Looking out the window, it appeared the train was just pulling out from the station, and a smile spread across both the girls' faces as they waved on to their family. Mother was obviously trying to hide her tears as she watched her youngest leaving home. But, fathers hand rubbed circles on her shoulder in comfort.

It was really amazing how time played no logical role when within the mindscape. However, seeing Lily was trying to ask her younger sister a question, Blossom suggested that they meet again later. Either when she took a nap or that night after the sorting. 

Clover agreed, her consciousness returning to the external world.

"Are you excited?" Lily repeated for the third time, watching her sister return to reality from wherever it was that she drifted off to.

"For a magic school, of course I am excited," Clover responded, perhaps a bit too stoically for what she was saying.

Blossom tried her hardest to excite Clover about Hogwarts. Nevertheless, Clover wasn't sure if she could see the appeal after everything Blossom had told her about the school.

Giant man-eating snakes in the bathrooms, aggressive trees looking to bludgeon you on the school grounds, underappreciated slave labour cooking the meals. It seemed as if Hogwarts was literally hell with a thinly veiled glamour of magic on the surface.

Then again regular school was hell as well so she supposed beggars can't be choosers.

"You don't sound too excited," Lily muttered a little put off with how people had been brushing her off today. First Severus, now Clover.

Feeling the crackle of energy that would fill the air whenever Lily became irritable, the warning that a storm was brewing, Clover took her sister's hands into her own. Lily turned her eyes from where they fixated on the upholstering of the seat cushion onto Clover at the feel of her touch.

"I really am excited, just a bit nervous is all," she said, hoping to remedy the situation.

The crisis was averted easily enough when Lily smiled again, slipping her hands out from between Clover's and replacing them with her own.

"No need to be nervous Clove, Hogwarts is fantastic, and the teachers are really nice and all want to help you succeed," Lily told her.

"Honestly, I'm most nervous for the sorting," Clover admitted.

Before Lily could respond, the compartment door slid open to reveal a girl with perfect blonde ringlets and vibrant hazel eyes. She wasn't all too tall, but her posture was pin-straight, and she held her head high, making herself seem liked she filled the doorway far more than she did in actuality.

"There you are Lil! I've been looking all over for you. Who's this?" she said eyes roaming over to Clover.

"My little sister, Clover, the one I told you got her letter last year."

The girl stepped into the compartment, plopping herself on the seat next to Lily and stuck her hand out to the younger girl, "Nice to make your acquaintance. My name is Marlene McKinnon, best friend and dormmate of a one Lily Evans."

Her handshake was firm but short as she shifted back, so her back was pressed against the compartment seat. In doing the soles of her shoes just barely brushed the floor.

"Nice to meet you as well…" Clover said not quite sure what else to say, but it seemed Marlene was entirely fine with taking control of the conversation.

"So, have you had any thought about what house you would like to be in? Are you looking to be in Gryffindor with me and Lily, or did you have another house in mind? Do you even know about the houses?" she asked each question without giving a moment of pause for Clover to answer.

Clover sucked in a breath suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed with the girl's presence, but she tried to organize her thoughts with the help of Blossom.

Holding up her hand, she lifted a finger "I do know a bit about the houses, but you are welcome to tell me more if you like."

She raised a second finger "I haven't had much thought about what house I would like to be in."

A third finger sprung up "I don't think I would mind too much being in Gryffindor, but I wouldn't really mind the other houses either so long as I can still see Lily."

Marlene turned to look at Lily "I reckon she's going to be a Ravenclaw Lils."

A voice coming from the doorway caused all heads to swivel "I'd put five galleons on Ravenclaw as well." The girl's eyes were a smooth and creamy amber, but there was a warmth like the embers of a dying fire. Her skin was quite the same with a hint of olive, but her hair was that of the brightest gold Clover had ever seen. Smooth waves poured from the girl's scalp only tied back by a singular royal blue ribbon.

Was there something in the water of Hogwarts that gave the girls such great hair? 

"Good to see you again Mina, how was your summer?" Lily asked pleasantly.

"As well and good as it could've been, mother insisted we visit our family back in Attica, and you know how my aunts are. I suppose it was better for me than it was for Ajax though so I shouldn't complain."

"Her aunts are Dianic witches," Marlene explained to Clover, who didn't know what that meant, but nodded along as she could just ask Blossom later.

Over time more found their way into the cabin. There was a small curly-haired first year like herself named Dorcas Meadows. The bubbly first year quickly fell into conversation with Lily's other dormmate who had found her way to the compartment, Mary Macdonald.

With due time Clover was able to drift off into the background. The other girls discussed amongst themselves their summers, made references to events that had happened in their past school year, or made predictions about the year to come. However, despite her best-efforts, Clover could not drift off to sleep with all the chatter from the girls and had resorted to staring out the window and watching the open terrain pass by.

She was shaken out of her stupor by a hand on her shoulder, Philomena's hand, letting her know that she should be changing into her robes as they would be arriving soon.

They had, and shortly she was ushered off the train by the swift-moving crowd, assured by Marlene that her trunk would find its way into her dorm room no problem and she shouldn't fuss about leaving it there.

Her and Dorcas were soon separated by the others after they passed through the wrought-iron arch. The elder girls boarded the gothic carriages on the left and the first years were rounded up on the twiggy path to the right.

"Right, hope you've all made it this far. We'll be filing into the boats down over there soon enough, just want to make sure that I've got all of you here before we disembark."

The man speaking wasn't Hagrid, much to Blossom's dismay, but a different groundskeeper who failed to mention his name. He was old, incredibly old, perhaps so old that he could be Dumbledore's grandfather.

Clover leaned against a tree towards the back of the group, not looking to push her way into one of the boats like some of the more eager students were. She was sure there would be a few boats capsizing before they finished crossing the lake.

Dorcas stayed near her, but Clover suspected it was merely because she was the only familiar face. They hadn't interacted all too much back on the train.

When it came time, the two girls filed into a boat behind a boy with sagging shoulders and dirty blonde hair. He looked like he was a moment away from puking the second he entered the ship. Clover took care to scoot as far back as possible in the case that the boats would be moving fast enough for it to fly back and hit her.

She caught a glimpse of the dull grey eyes of Regulus Black but had quickly lost him in the crowd.

"Well looks like you're all in, we should be off then!" the ancient relic called out . The old man stood at the head of one of the boats on the far right with impressive balance. As if the ships could understand, which they probably could, they broke off from the bank. Then, at a painfully slow pace, broke past the tree line of the willows overhead exposing the view of the most spectacular architectural feat Clover had ever borne witness to.

The castle, situated on its jagged precipice, appeared to stretch into the heavens, with its tower tops cloaked by the low-lying clouds surrounding it. The light shining from the grand stained windows cast an ethereal glow. Blossom couldn't help but wonder why Harry never mentioned the intricate glass mosaics that displayed Hogwarts' four founders.

The first was a glittering ruby pane where Godric Gryffindor's depiction stood tall, shoulders back, with a sword grasped in one hand and a wand in the other. Next was the shining emerald Slytherin pane exemplifying Salazar Slytherin with an air of prestige. His arm outstretched, holding a curved serpentine staff. Beside the green was the brilliant blue-toned mosaic of Rowena Ravenclaw who's diadem glowed under the light of the rising moon. Finally, in a warm yellow glow, the slightly pudgy visage of Helga Hufflepuff was sat in a wooden chair with a welcoming smile gracing her face.

Clover couldn't break her eyes away until she heard the sharp splash of a reckless student flipping into the lake. 

She knew there would be one.

Nonetheless, she made it to shore dry and free of vomit. Though the view was unimaginable, she was looking forward to never having to ride across Black Lake to get to Hogwarts again. As the water smelled distinctly of sulfur that continued to tinge her nose as they began to scale the hill.

"Welcome first years!" A maternal voice called from up ahead where towering medieval doors were open wide flooding the bridge, they were crossing with the candlelight from inside.

"Right this way, in you go," the woman was on the younger side with light brown hair. She was a little on the chunky side and donned a mustard-coloured dress with dirt stains along its knees and sleeves.

"I am Pomona Sprout," the woman announced when all the first years had entered the castle twirling her wand and drying the poor boys who were still sopping wet from the lake. "I am a professor of Herbology here at Hogwarts. In a few minutes you'll be heading inside for the sorting ceremony. As of this year Head of Hufflepuff house so I look forward to guiding some of you who will be joining me this year!"

Some boys snickered at the woman mumbling who would want to be in Hufflepuff.

Clover didn't cast them a glance.

"Thank you Pomona, I will take them from here," the shrewd voice of the iconic Professor McGonagall set a hush over the crowd of eleven-year-olds.

Her eyes were hard and observant as they swept over the new students. She paused for a breath longer on one or two, which Clover would wager was her way of singling out the future troublemakers.

"You may follow me," the two doors creaked open revealing the amber glow of the great hall.

Despite Blossom being well aware of how the books revelled in the ceiling's open sky reflection, she found that she was far more drawn to wondering how they kept the sconce-less, magically suspended, candles from dripping on the heads of the students.

Her eyes flashed over to the crimson table. She could see Lily extending her neck with Marlene and Mary to find her and probably Dorcas in their little group. Clover was at least a head shorter than everyone surrounding her so they out of luck.

The hat was pulled out and sat on the stool, or so Clover assumed she couldn't see, but she could hear its song which Blossom was sure was recycled in one of the books, but she couldn't put her finger on which one. Following the song, the tedious process of sorting.

"Michael Aaron"

Ravenclaw

"Gwendolyn Appleby"

Hufflepuff

"Regulus Black"

Slytherin

There were three more Ravenclaws, a Gryffindor, and two Slytherins before "Clover Blossom Evans."

Clover stepped out from the thick of the crowd accidentally stumbling over someone's foot but thankfully could correct herself before sitting herself down on the stool at the other end of the hall. Her knuckles were white from how tightly she gripped at the chair as the hat slipped over her eyes.

It was very dark inside the hat, and then it wasn't.

"What am I doing here?" she asked Blossom who was leaning over a stone balcony looking down at the hedge maze.

Clover's question was echoed by a young man dressed from head to toe in leather. His eyes and hair were a similar dusty bronze to his clothes. He was looking around equally bewildered as Clover.

"Who are you?" she Blossom asked, tearing her gaze away from the greenery.

"Who are you!" he parroted backing into the railing trying to put as much distance between himself and the girls.

"I am Clover," followed soon after by "I'm Blossom."

"Evans?" the man asked, and the girls nodded.

"And you are?" Blossom prompted as he seemed in no rush to provide this information himself.

"I, well I am the sorting hat," Blossom let out a laugh of glee and quickly covered her mouth with her hands to hide her excitement.

"Where am I?" he asked.

"You're in my mindscape. I think we're on the top floor," Clover looked to Blossom who nodded in affirmation, "I assume you're here for the sorting."

"Well, yes I am, but I'm just a messenger I don't make any of the decisions on my own!" he exclaimed, looking around for something or rather someone.

"You're not on your own," Blossom consoled leaning over the balcony once more, "they're down there."

Her arm stretched out, pointing at a group of four particularly confused individuals who had just emerged into the garden of reflection dressed in clothes that had long since gone out of fashion.

"Should we go down to welcome our guests?" Blossom asked Clover. 

She looked far more excited than Clover was expecting considering how much she seemed to criticize the sorting process.

They rushed down the spiral stairs 'The sorting hat' stumbling behind as he tried not to get lost or get stuck in the various trick steps throughout. Bursting into the garden Blossom's curls bouncing behind her they were greeted with the four founders of Hogwarts sat around the quaint white table in her mind garden.

"Welcome!" Blossom called, only to receive mumbling in response, while the woman Clover presumed was Helga Hufflepuff poured tea she likely conjured for the others.

The sorting hat placed his hand on Blossom's shoulder to garner her attention while he caught his breath. 

"You… didn't… give me… the chance to tell you…" he raised from his hunched over position, "they don't speak modern English, I need to translate."

Blossoms jaw dropped before realization sunk in, and her hands flew to her hair "Oh my god I never thought of that. They're from the eleventh century of course they would be speaking old English. Okay then, let me ask you to ask them then, what is the purpose of the houses? It seems counterintuitive to separate children into subjective traits if the purpose of your school was to educate."

The sorting hat nodded along as Blossom spoke before turning to the four elders and beginning to speak. Godric Gryffindor spoke first. The sorting hat countered. Then Salazar Slytherin Spoke and Rowena Ravenclaw cut in.

Old English sounded vaguely similar to modern English. Nonetheless, Clover and Blossom were at a loss to what the founders could be saying until the sorting hat would translate for them. The discourse continued amongst those at the table for some time before Rowena Ravenclaw turned to the girls addressing them as she spoke.

"She says education itself is subjective," the sorting hat man translated.

"What do you mean by that?" Clover asked.

"She means that what people consider to be an education is different based upon what they value. Which makes sense I suppose, but I still don't understand why splitting children based on supposed traits they show would be helpful. Plenty of children in the novels, Harry included, exemplified characteristics of most of the houses," Blossoms explained. 

Her eyebrows scrunched wondering what to say next as the sorting hat passed what she said along to the founders.

Godric Gryffindor spoke this time.

"It is not just what you value in yourself, but what you value in your brethren."

"Can you not value ambition, loyalty, creativity, and chivalry in those around you?" Clover questioned. This time Blossom did not interrupt because she agreed.

"You can, but there is one you will undoubtably value more," the sorting hat answered himself.

"I disagree," Blossom chimed in "there are times when I will value one over the other, but that is due to my circumstances at the moment. How can something you value as an eleven year old represent what you value as a seventeen year old it makes no sense to me."

For the first time, Helga Hufflepuff spoke.

"It is not so simple as you are trying to make it. Yes, we each have values which we hold above others, but those are guideposts for success in our houses, what we believe our students should strive for. These are not sole characteristics within our students. You can be an ambitious Hufflepuff, or a brave Slytherin. The houses represent the difference in opinion we have on how, what, and why you should learn."

The other founders nodded along in agreeance.

"I believed in students facing their lessons head on, learning from experience with magic rather than being told, so that they could be quick to action when problems arise," Godric provided.

"I believed in experimentation of all kinds, where students would compete with each other to improve upon themselves, so that they may achieve greatness beyond Hogwarts" Salazar claimed.

"I wanted my students to ask questions of what I taught and seek out the answers on their own, to value problem solving above all else, so that for even the most complex problems they may find solutions," Rowena said.

Finally was Helga's turn "I wanted my students to find reason for themselves to learn, to look to their friends their family their work and find the motivation to work until they were done, so that they may be able to look back on their past without regret and still look to the future with hope."

Clover felt her heart warm at Helga's response. Blossom gave her a knowing look, leaning in close she whispered in Clover's ear "I've gotten all of them when I took sorting quizzes, but it was Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff the most. Slytherin was a close third though."

"So, how does the sorting actually work then?" Clover asked, not understanding how a dead witch or wizard's teaching preference would impact how she was sorted. She would still learn reasonably well under any method.

"You choose," answered the hat.

"What! Really?" Blossom exclaimed.

"Yes, typically we are not so explicit in saying so, and of course there are times where the founders reject a student from entering their ranks, but the choice is yours."

Blossom turned to Clover biting her lower lip in contemplation, "I mean, I bleed black and yellow at this point, but this is more your life than mine what do you want?"

Clover smiled up at her grasping Blossoms hand as she knew her answer "we are two halves of the same whole you know my choice."

"Hufflepuff" the sorting hat boomed out, and students couldn't be more dissatisfied with the result of the hat-stall.

Clover didn't care though as she waltzed over to the table under badger tapestry. Squeezing in beside Gwendolyn something who'd been sorted earlier and a third-year boy Clover flashed a smile to her sister as she caught her gaze from across the room.

Perhaps some would think she was a little mad to deliberately choose Hufflepuff. Still, Clover Blossom believed no choice was wiser.

Hufflepuff was the house of finders. For those who search for opportunity, and who have the determination to achieve. It was also the house for those who can quietly succeed in the background, which Blossom knew they would need if they not only had any hopes to survive but to allow those they loved to live beyond these walls.

Perhaps she was a little mad to believe she could achieve so much, but she thought anyone in her position would be a bit mad too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N
> 
> Is anyone surprised she’s a Hufflepuff? I like to think of myself as a hufflepuff even though I tend to sort across the board, so like I said I am biased. 
> 
> Did you like the ‘conversation’ with the founders. 
> 
> I originally was intending to go into a spiel on how the houses are damaging to the Hogwarts students because I’ve been reading up on that, but I thought I did enough Hogwarts bashing in the last chapter and you all deserved a break. It’s not as if I won’t end up going into that later anyways. 
> 
> Please let me know if the way I alternate Clover and Blossom is too confusing during the times they are not conversing. I am not too sure how I want to exemplify their difference in frames of reference yet. 
> 
> Anyways thank you so much again for the reviews (and comment here on AO3) I literally did a little happy dance when I saw them and then started another chapter. They are more than motivating. Happy New Year, everyone.


	6. Chapter 6 ~ Nothing Comes Easy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t edit this as well as I usually do because I wanted to get it up, but I will be coming back to this chapter with a keen eye later, so I hope I do not disappoint anyone.

The sorting did not end with Clover.

Of course, it didn’t, she was E for Evans there was still F through Z to sort, and that would take nearly another hour to cycle through.

Some sortings were almost instantaneous, like the Hufflepuff boy who dropped down in front of her Michael Flockerts. Others took a painfully long time to sort, like five and a half minutes for Dorcas Meadows, who ultimately ended up in Gryffindor.

Unfortunately, despite the constant cheering filling the room, the adrenaline that had been rushing through her from her own sorting had long died down with all this remaining time.

She was coming to realize that she was indeed at Hogwarts.

She was at Hogwarts in a house full of people she didn’t know.

She was in a house full of people Blossom didn’t even know of.

She was at the dining table where she would need to start making connections, but she had never done that before. The closest people to her were her sisters and the personification of her past life. They were forced to, at the very least endure her company.

A plethora of questions flooded her mind. How do you start a conversation with someone you know nothing about? What if she makes a poor first impression? What if people think she’s weird or boring and avoids her from then on?

So many things to contemplate, that she had nearly missed the fact that the sorting had drawn to a close with Tammy Zhou being placed in Gryffindor.

Dumbledore rose from his seat and waltzed to the podium as the students silently trailed him with their eyes. His midnight blue robes sparkled with a silver accent as if the night sky was draped over his spindly frame. They matched perfectly with his stormy eyes that held a prominent twinkle of their own as they traced the students in return.

He fixed his sagging pointed hat on his head with not a single hint of expression on his face before breaking out into a jovial smile.

“Welcome first years and returning students, I have but only a few select words before the feast shall ensue,” his voice thundered through the room despite the seeming gentleness it carried. 

“Kumquat, lepmet, wunk,” and with a wave of his wand the tables filled with a fragrant feast of rotisserie chicken, roast beef, baked potatoes and more. 

Clover filled her plate with a small assortment of food, unlike the others around her who seemed to pile their dishes as if it would be their last. She didn’t have much of an appetite at the moment, and she wasn’t eager to get caught between the flying elbows either.

She poured herself a glassful of a spicy smelling drink and tried to take a good look around her table.

There were seven girls, including herself sorted into Hufflepuff this year, and five boys. It looked as if there were about eighty or so students in total sat at the table, so that seemed about right.

Most of the older students seemed to crowd toward the edges with a few sporadically taking seats toward the centre, but Clover noticed most of the older teens sitting with the youngsters were wearing prefect badges, so this wasn’t likely to be a common occurrence.

The girl on her left, Gwendolyn had piled her plate with enough mashed potatoes to feed a small village and was proceeding to drown the mound with the never-emptying gravy boat.

Clover hadn’t caught the name of the redheaded boy who was spearing his broccoli like it had personally wronged him, but he was turned toward another first-year girl on her right named Martha, who had just told everyone that she was a half-blood whose parents owned an owlery in Diagon Alley.

Clover opened her mouth to ask if it was the same one next to the ‘Fanciful Quills’ shop that had the cage of recently born owlets in the storefront, but Ingrid, a second-year blonde with a smile that didn’t even drop when she ate, beat her to it, so she just took a long sip from her goblet instead.

Arthur two seats down on her left claimed he had muggle parents who’d had a right scare when he first started showing signs of magic after his teacher was scolding him at school.

Clover wanted to ask what it was he did and had even turned her body in his direction, but another first-year boy slipped in instead mentioning the time he’d found himself on the roof after his Mum had chased after him for breaking her favourite vase.

She didn’t have any stories of accidental magic like they did, so she just shovelled a forkful of peas into her mouth instead.

Turning back around in her seat, she locked eyes with Michael across from her who then looked down at her barely touched plate.

“Are you going to eat that?” he asked, gesturing to her pork sausage.

“Uhm, no.”

The words were no sooner from her lips before the boy’s fork pierced through the link shoving the sausage into his mouth.

Dinner into dessert continued in a similar fashion, Clover wanting to speak, but not knowing how to cut in and resigning to sit in silence and emptying and refilling her cup instead.

Without a single conversation, the feast ended, and the fifth-year prefects were corralling the first years around to give them the usual spiel of castle rules and lead them down to the common rooms.

Clover lingered near the back by Michael who was still munching on the biscuits he had stashed into his pocket as she peered around trying to catch a sight of Lily before she left for the night. To her dismay, it seemed as if her sister had already deserted the room as there were only the first years and prefects present from each house.

“Alright first years, now that you know as much, I’m going to lead you down to the common rooms. It’s not too long of a trip so you shouldn’t have much trouble finding your way here for breakfast tomorrow morning, but if you need any help feel free to ask any of us wearing this badge here or a teacher and we’ll be happy to point you in the right direction,” a chirpy brunette named Linda called out.

Her companion David was much quieter and was taking up the rear by Clover looking like he was in the last place he wished to be at the moment. He twirled his espresso-coloured wand between his fingers, tapping his foot, as Linda continued to talk and showed no signs of leaving the room despite all the other houses making their way through the giant double doors.

“She sure talks a lot,” Clover whispered under her breath. She thought she’d said it quiet enough for only her to hear, but the snort she heard from David proved that notion to be wrong.

He wore a slight smirk on his face, and Clover couldn’t help but feel proud that she was able to draw a reaction out of at least one person that night.

Eventually, Linda began to lead them out of the hall without seemingly stopping to breathe once and down a large stone flight of stairs directly across from the doors of the Great Hall. Carved into the walls were arches filled with hundreds of suits of armour that grew in age the further one looked up.

Linda was saying something about watching out for them for some reason or another, but Clover was too far away to hear despite the prefect’s voice carrying quite well.

The two flights of stairs were frankly misleading as they were long enough to fit several flights within themselves and Clover was thoroughly out of breath by the time, she reached the bottom which opened up to a long low-ceilinged corridor lined with torches that glowed a deep orange hue.

There were halls that forked off every hundred meters or so, but the troupe of Hufflepuffs only had to walk a small distance before coming upon the large gold-framed painting of a basket of fruit. Beside it was a collection of seemingly out of place caskets stacked upon each other.

Linda held her wand high up in the air, she must have cast some type of charm as a yellow light was beaming from its tip like a laser pointer.

“Now watch closely everyone, you’re going to want to take your wands and tap on this barrel right here” she circled the barrel a few times with her light, “to the rhythm of Helga Hufflepuff!” she called out.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Clover questioned aloud looking up at David who simply took his wand and tapped it against his hand twice, paused, then three more times. Clover nodded, flashing him a smile in thanks.

“Be careful though, tap the wrong barrel or the wrong pattern and you’ll get sprayed with vinegar,” Linda warned, and Clover was sure one had to be a fool to get the pattern wrong.

Slipping into the common room was like being in the inside of a large, albeit well decorated, garden planter. The floors were covered in dark brown carpeting, and the walls were a dark orangey clay plastering. The furniture itself looked as if it formed from spindling trees that sprouted from the floor, which considering the thick yellow and black cushioning over top looked incredibly comfortable despite the way it sounded.

The fake crescent windows along the walls filtered in some form of artificial sunlight alleviating the need for candles throughout the room. This was bearing in mind they were far too deep underground to see the light from the surface, and it was also nighttime.

It was probably as a light source for the plants that were genuinely everywhere. Plants hung from the ceiling, plants crawled up the walls, there were plants on the tables, plants on the shelves, plants on the fireplace mantle, small plants, leafy plants, succulents, plants that glowed. If you could name any type of flora, it probably resided in this room, and Clover could already feel her allergies starting to act up.

“Alright ladies you’ll be following me through the door over there on the right, boys this is where we part, you’ll be following David through that door over there on your left.”

Clover took a moment to mourn the fact that because she was born without something between her legs, she would now be enduring a prolonged duration of time with Linda.

Nonetheless, she followed behind through the circular door that looked incredibly similar to the lid of the barrels they entered through to get into the common room.

“So, the doors on your left are for the odd years such as ourselves, first, third, fifth, and seventh,” she gestured her arm out like a game show host “The doors on the right then are for the even years second, fourth, and sixth.”

Pointing at each door, she continued to explain “The rooms are sorted going down the hall from oldest to youngest so you girls will be all the way at the end on the left. Your trunks have some sort of charm on them so when you pick a bed you’ll find your belongings inside so there’s no need to worry about that.”

Linda tapped her finger on her chin, thinking of what to say next “Each room has a communal bathroom so there’s no need to worry about where to go if you need to go sometime tonight. If you have any questions, I’ll be right inside the door right her so just give it a knock and I’ll be happy to help. We were lucky to arrive on a Friday this year so you girls get the weekend to settle in, but I’ll see you all in the morning to help anyone who needs help finding their way to breakfast-“Clover entered the dorm feeling she heard all she needed at this point.

The room had black stained wood flooring and pastel yellow panelling on the walls. The beds were canopies structured in the same fashion as the furniture in the common room and had thick, velvety mustard-coloured curtains drawn at the posts. There was a mural of sorts at the far end of a large tree that resembled the Celtic tree of life. Written beneath some of its branches were the names of the girls of the first-year dorm.

Gwendolyn Appleby  
Pamela Anand  
Clover Blossom Evans  
Martha Flutterson  
Diana Hughes  
Amy McLaren  
Tammy Mamani

Clover crossed the length of the room to the bed closest to the mural and subsequently furthest from the door and lifted up the lid of the trunk to take a peek inside. Everything was in its place just as she’d packed it, so she took care to simply carry out the few personal belongings she’d brought along, such as the pictures of her and her sisters, and the thick knit blanket her mother had knitted for her right before she’d left.

Tossing the fitting yellow blanket on top of the black comforters, she arranged the picture frames on the bedside table keenly aware of the other girls now entering the room.

“Will you be getting up early tomorrow?”

“No I like to sleep in on the weekends, but do you think we’ll miss breakfast?”

“Probably not, anyways my brother is in Hufflepuff too and apparently the kitchens are around here somewhere so it will be fine if we miss.”

Clover rearranged the picture frames not liking the way they looked before smoothing out the blanket at the end of the bed, so it didn’t look so messy.

“So, all your family is magic?”

“As far as I can tell, I mean some other purebloods would tell you otherwise, but my nan and my nan’s nan were witches and so is everyone else in between.”

Pulling out her toothbrush and hairbrush Clover crossed the room to where the door to the bathroom was located halfway in, opposite to the beds.

It was made of simple black marble with white accents. There was a small cup at the end of the countertop beside the faucets where Clover dropped in her toothbrush and shelves with bins with each of their names which Clover dropped her hairbrush in.

“Have you ever been to India?”

“No, I haven’t, what’s it like?”

“I go there every year to see my family and it usually is a big gathering. I love going there because I don’t get to see my grandmother often being here in Britain.”

Clover grabbed her towels, walked across the room, and dropped them in the bathroom bin.  
“Yeah, I’m a big Chudley Cannons fan. My uncle is the assistant couch, so we get free tickets when they play.”

“That’s so neat! Do you play quidditch yourself?”

“I do, I want to play professionally in the future. My uncle says I got potential as a chaser.”

To the bathroom and back, fix the picture frames again, change out of her robes and into sleepwear.

Clover’s eyes couldn’t keep off the girls who were each sat atop the two centre beds chatting together as if they hadn’t just met that evening. At least that’s the impression Clover got.

She sat in front of her vanity comb and spray bottle in hand as she tried her best to strong-arm her way through the tangles of curls so she could braid it before bed. Though it seemed her attention was focused on parting her hair and intricately weaving the strands together anyone who knew her could tell you she was in distress.

Do they think she’s weird? 

She forgot to take from the left side before braiding, and now the French braid was lopsided. She undid her work and started over.

Do they not want her here, maybe she makes them uncomfortable; it must be strange to have someone in the room who doesn’t even acknowledge you? 

Her finger slipped, and the braid loosened. She undid her work again to start over.

Maybe she should just talk to them. They all seem nice. No, it would be weird now that she’s been ignoring them for so long. 

Clover finally tied off her braid and tilted her head around to evaluate if it was good enough to call it a night.

“That’s so good!” a voice from the group of girls shouted and Clover couldn’t help but turn around to look at who was making all the noise. She was shocked to see the group of girls looking back at her, however, with Gwendolyn pointing her finger in Clover’s direction.

Likely sensing Clover’s confusion, she elaborated “You’re braid it’s so good, who taught you to braid like that?”

“Uh, my sister Petunia did, she used to braid my hair in the mornings, but she’s a muggle so before I left for Hogwarts, she taught me so that I could look presentable when she’s not around” Clover shared offering a slight smile feeling under a lot of pressure with all the eyes on her.

“Do you think you can do my hair like that?” another girl piped up, Diana, she believed.

“Yeah, do you mind if I use my comb or do you have your own that you would like me to use?” Clover asked, and the girl beamed as if she hadn’t expected Clover to agree and claimed she didn’t mind Clover using her own comb.

With trained fingers, Clover parted the girl’s hair deftly looping the strands into a near-perfect braid. All the while, the girls turned their attention back to their conversations, but with the added care to rope in Clover as well this time. Asking her about her sisters, about Cokesworth, what her favourite foods are. Was she a morning person? Was she excited for classes to start? Did she find Linda annoying as well?

Clover ended up braiding the hair of each of the girls before they turned in for bed that night or more accurately that morning feeling far more at ease than she thought she would be when the night began.

The weekend passed by just as easily. The girls sticking to their little group as they made it to the great hall just in time the following morning for breakfast and proceeded to hang out in their common room or the courtyard and grow closer to each other in nearly all their weekend downtime.

The only exception was when Clover slipped aside Saturday night to write Petunia and her parents’ letters home. She knew how little Lily actually had to say about what Hogwarts was like so her thesis-like letter recounted almost every detail of the castle she could think to describe.

Clover would see Lily occasionally in the halls, and she would wave, but her sister would always seem to be with Severus or rushing out of the room Clover had just entered. It had only been a few days though, so Clover wasn’t all too concerned.

Then came Monday, and despite the fact that Clover hated to wake up in the morning she had absolutely no issue getting out of bed and into the Great Hall taking care to make sure she had not a hair out of place, and her cloak and uniform were wrinkle-free for the first day of classes. Upon sitting down for breakfast, the girls were met with the sunny face of Pomona Sprout who was humming along as she passed out the timetables to each of the students.

Being first years, the girls shared all their classes, so they didn’t bother to compare schedules instead scarfing down their meals keeping in mind the rant of the importance of being early, not only on time, to McGonagall’s class that one of the third years had made the day before.

Clover pulled at the hood of Michael, who was going to be left behind at this rate, and they set off with fierce expressions of determination on their faces down the stone halls. Until they realized they didn’t know where they were going. Begrudgingly, Clover had gone to Linda for help having seen the girl in her peripheral, and they arrived five minutes early to the class which had been located on the other end of the school from where they had started.

Taking their seats near the front of the class, the other girls chatted about, thinking the third year was just trying to scare them as the professor was nowhere to be seen.

Clover knew better though, as she watched the unnaturally still tabby cat with the unmistakable markings of square spectacles around its eyes survey the room. Blossom had told her all about Professor McGonagall and Clover couldn’t help but adopt the others admiration and respect for the Scottish witch.

“Good morning students,” her shrill voice called as cat morphed to woman before their very eyes.

“It is always a pleasant start when students arrive on time to class, so I hope this is more than a one-time occurrence.”

This was not only noted but laminated and made into a shrine in Clover’s mind, having no intentions of getting on this particular professor’s bad side.

“There will be little use of wands in my class to start as the elegant art of transfiguration is not so simple as a flick of a wand and a few silly words spoken. In this class you will learn to alter your world to the finest details. Those of you who excel may even find yourselves in my Newt Class in your fifth year which I hope to be most of you,” her stern eyes roamed the room, and none were brave enough, or better yet stupid enough to say otherwise.

“Now let us begin. I take it you’ve all got your copies of A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration? Take them out and place them on your desks, we’ll be starting our lesson today on Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration on page thirteen. Quickly no dilly-dallying.”

Gamp’s law was easy enough to understand outlining the parameters of what transfiguration magic could and couldn’t do. Such as, food cannot be created through magic from nothing, it can be altered in a variety of ways such as multiplying it or moving it with magic, but not conjured.

The two-hour class passed by with ceaseless lecture and despite Clover’s hand feeling like it was going to fall off from all the notes she’d taken, especially considering how unnatural the quill felt in her hand, Clover was warming up to Hogwarts and what her next six years would be like in its castle walls.

Charms had gone over much the same as Transfigurations with no actual spellcasting occurring on her first day of classes, but Clover still managed to make an impression on the small, but mighty dueler Filias Flitwick.

He had asked what the students believed they would be covering in class this year and Clover’s arm was quick to shoot up and list out the five main spells she was sure they would learn. After class, he had pulled her aside to question why she had been so sure, where she proposed her theory that all charms are derived from a set of select spells that were necessary for early magic users’ survival, such as Lumos or Augmenti, and as such to learn in the way that the spells naturally developed was only logical. She was awarded ten points and left the class feeling more than confident.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was a bit of a bore with a retired Auror who seemed keener on scouting the older students than actually teaching as he went on a tirade of the importance of the Auror department.

Herbology was par for the course as they planted the relatively durable Moly Plant which wouldn’t be sprouting until the second full moon, so there wasn’t much to base her performance off of for that one. However, Clover could say that the process of planting seeds was strangely therapeutic.

This year’s Hufflepuffs shared potions class with the Slytherins, and despite Professor Slughorn’s clear tendency towards favouritism, Clover found the knowledge he had on the subject to be incredibly engaging and even with the four-hour block of their first class she hadn’t felt fatigued in the slightest.

Astronomy was thankfully taking place primarily on Fridays at midnight, with the exception of particular dates of unusual planetary observance, which meant Clover would sleep in on Saturday’s to make up for the sleep lost from the class.

It seems others were still lacking sleep though as she appeared to be the only one awake during Professor Binns lessons which, perhaps coming from the muggle in her, were incredibly interesting. Especially with all the parallels wizarding history had with muggle history throughout the ages.

All in all, her first week had gone astonishingly well, which is perhaps why the following weeks became so devastating to poor Clover Blossom Evans.

It started with charms class, where she was perhaps performing under the greatest expectations considering how she did in her first week.

The focus of class would be on the practical performance of a single spell, Lumos. Once one could successfully cast, they were welcome to play around with casting the light in different colours and intensities, but that implied the students would successfully cast the spell in the first place.

There were three simple rules to spell casting in charms, one must correctly perform the hand movement, rightly say the incantation, and then charge their spell with their magical intent.

In the case of Lumos, the hand movement was a small, almost indiscernible circle. The incantation was, in fact, its name, and there was very little willpower necessary to perform the spell. Still, try after try not a single flicker of light appeared at the tip of her wand. Gwendolyn seeing her struggles, and having successfully cast herself, had turned to Clover to walk her through the spell, but to no avail.

Eventually, the entire class, excluding Clover, had succeeded and were playing around with the different colours and beams the spell could take the form of with a few alterations to the incantation, wand movement, or intent.

By the time class drew to a close Professor Flitwick was pulling Clover aside again, but to comfort the child who seemed at a loss. He assured her that not all students were able to grasp their magic at the beginning, and there was nothing to be upset over. Recommending a number of books in addition to their assignment on the various uses of Lumos, he sent her on her way.

Transfiguration the following morning was perhaps an even worse performance as McGonagall had even worked with Clover one on one as the class progressed, trying to turn her matchsticks into pins. It wasn’t as if everyone was entirely successful with the transfiguration, but at least something had occurred when they made their attempts.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was just a pitiful repeat of charms class which even with the extra reading that Clover had stayed up to do in the library, she was unable to successfully cast.

All the conviction within her that had amounted in the first week was soon out the door.

Night after night, she would be found in the library scouring every book she could, in hopes of realizing what it is she was doing wrong. Her essays were like literary novels presenting the most complex thoughts on the most minute details in hope to compensate for her lack of practical performance.

She would find herself in her bed, curtains were drawn so that the silencing charms on them would keep her dormmates from waking, practising the fundamental spells well into the night until she would fall asleep from exhaustion.

Her dormmates began bringing breakfast up to the room for her so she could get an extra hour of sleep each morning. Most times they would carry their dinners back to their bedroom as well and take turns trying to help Clover, but it was to no avail.

With a month already passing by in Clover’s first year at Hogwarts, she found herself depleted and borderline apathetic.

It was time for the potions practical and despite Clover knowing the history of the cure for boils, the history of each of its ingredients, each of their properties, each of their alternatives, various methods of preparations, why the components worked together in the potion to produce their results, and all the characteristics the brew should have to be considered done right, she was sure like all the other classes she would find a way to mess this up.

Her feet were dragging, and she was walking alone as she had once again failed to attend breakfast that morning. Her mind was filtering through all the information she was going to need like a checklist of sorts referencing back to the potion’s textbook in her hand periodically.

She was so focused on doing so that she failed to acknowledge the fairly obvious black ‘X’ on the floor in front of her that most other students had taken the courtesy to sidestep as they could see the ectoplasm around its radius. Within seconds Clover was covered head to toe in paranormal gunk that made every inch of her it coated sting.

This was just her luck.

She could see a group of howling boys holding on to each other for support in the distance behind one of the stone pillars, but she didn’t have the time to engage as she didn’t want to be late for her potions practical.

Slipping into the room with not a moment to spare, Slughorn announced that they may begin. The nameless Slytherin on her right made faces at her as she stripped off her cloak in favour of the spare she kept in her bag. Unfortunately, her textbook which she had been holding was soaked and frankly unusable at the moment with the way the goo burned her, so Clover just sighed and reasoned it was best to just get the potion over with, as she collected the ingredients from the back and started working from memory.

At some point, the girl was breaking out into hives, and at the concern of Tammy, her partner, Clover was released to the medical wing, but not without depositing her vial on Professor Slughorn’s desk first.

Madam Pomphrey questioned the young girl upon arrival as to why she hadn’t come to her sooner, but Clover could only offer a non-committal shrug in response. The matron cast a few spells and gave the girl a potion or two before sending her off recommending she go see her head of the house to report the incident, but Clover had just wanted to return to her room and sleep already growing tired of the day.

In this state of detachment Clover pushed on into November, having caught the same group of four boys, the Marauders as Blossom called them setting up another prank just before Halloween. She said not a word but was careful to avoid the dung bombs that rolled out that morning on those who travelled through the main staircase to get to the great hall.

It was November 2nd, a Thursday when Professor Sprout suggested during breakfast to meet her in her office after Herbology class that afternoon. Clover’s heart shattered. She believed this was it, they had realized she wasn’t actually a witch and were going to kick her out of Hogwarts.

What was she supposed to do with all this knowledge of the coming war if she’s sent home and loses contact with the magical world?

Maybe she could find an apprenticeship somewhere in Diagon Alley that doesn’t require magic so she could at least stay in the loop. Her heart was in her throat as she traipsed towards the inviting back room of Greenhouse 3.

“You wanted to see me Professor?” she asked from the doorway.

“Yes, come in Clover. Have a seat? Would you like some hibiscus tea?”

Clover’s throat was raw with anxiety, and she figured at the very least she could use the tea to buy a few more seconds to think before responding, so she agreed.

“Honey or sugar?” the motherly woman questioned.

“Honey, please.” 

The conversation was taking forever to start, and Clover truthfully wished the woman would just rip it off like a bandaid.

“If I am going to be expelled professor please just say so.”

The woman dropped the spoon she was stirring within surprise, shooting an affronted look at the young child in front of her.

“Merlin, dear what gave you the idea that you were going to be expelled?”

“Well if I can’t perform magic what reason is there for you to keep me here,” Clover’s eyes dropped into her lap.

“What are you saying? Can’t perform magic? You’ve performed plenty of magic since you’ve been here,” Professor Sprout claimed pushing Clover’s tea forward on her desk. “Your Moly plant sprouted and is growing strong which is based on the magic you indued when planting it. Professor Slughorn even pulled me aside to tell me how wonderful your cure for boils was. NEWT level quality he said. I heard you even did it without a recipe that is quite a feat. You didn’t think you could create a potion without magic, did you?”

Clover did actually believe that, but she wasn’t going to voice that right now.

“No, Clover I had no intentions of expelling you today. I called you here because a few Professors and students had brought to my attention your change in behavior, that you haven’t been looking much of yourself lately. I just wanted to say that if there is anyone bothering you can always come to me.”

Clover heaved out a heavy breath of relief, no longer the weight of the world weighing down on her, but she still couldn’t shake the feeling that she was a sub-par witch that didn’t belong at Hogwarts.

They sat in silence for some time. Clover just looking at the tea in her hand, not really seeing much of anything.

“She’s right you know” she could hear Blossom say. “You’re not a subpar witch.”

“I just don’t understand why I can’t perform any of my spells. No matter how hard I try there’s nothing,” she had meant it in reply to Blossom, but she’d spoken it out loud, and Professor Sprout had heard the concern on her face deepening as she grabbed for the child’s hands.

Clover nearly jumped not expecting the touch and looked up from her tea.

“Clover, I am going to let you in on a little secret. I had my suspicions when I first saw you, but I can say for sure now. There is nothing wrong with your performance, it’s absolutely normal for our type of magic.”

“Type?” Clover Blossom asked.

“Yes, there are all different types of magic, not just one like so many think. Some are more aggressive, almost electric, those are best for spellcasting and dueling. There are some who’s magic is darker, lighter. Some have magic that fizzes. Some’s magic rushes like a river under their guidance,” The professor began to explain.

“Our magic is special because it starts from within us but draws from beyond. Some people can simply generate their magic from somewhere within, but we’re not like them. We are too in tune with our surroundings, with the people around us. Some call us empaths, but it just means that our magic is heavily dictated by emotion. Without feeling, without heart, nothing will come,” the professor tapped the tip of her wand against her chest.

“I’m not saying that you don’t have enough heart, just that your heart is too open. You need to guide it gently and allow it to work for you, you can’t force matters of the heart.”

Clover nodded, her nerves were gone, and now she felt more tired than she had before, which was saying something.

“It’s not going to be easy. The matters of the heart never are, but I promise you, you can perform magic just as well as any other witch it will just come with time. So, don’t be dismayed. Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall are not disappointed in you, in fact they both came to speak with me in praise of your essays. You are doing just fine. You might want to talk with your sister though, I am sure that will make you feel a bit better.”

Clover nodded again and offered the professor a small smile.

“Thank you, Professor, I should be on my way then.”

The maternal figure offered one last pat on her hand before Clover slipped out the door to turn into bed again.

This time, however, she decided when she awoke, she wouldn’t burn herself out, worrying about her apparent weaknesses.

Nothing worth having comes easy, but when had she let that stop her before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N
> 
> Once again I look forward to hearing what you guys think about Clover. 
> 
> I’m not using ‘Empath’ in the way one might think, but as a category of witches who’s magic stems from emotion. I felt it was unlikely considering the way I had written the early chapters that Clover would be quick to pick up something as innate as magic as she’s not even fully in touch with herself considering her split consciousness. 
> 
> Unfortunately, updates may be slowing to once a week now that the holidays are over because I still have to go to work and juggle my internship, but I made a promise to myself that I will update weekly, and not skimpy thousand-word chapters either, so I hope you look forward to that. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading.


	7. Chapter 7 ~ Befana the Christmas Witch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I genuinely don’t know why I struggled so hard to write this chapter, I think it’s maybe because I really want to strike the balance between the girls bond and their less than favorable qualities. Anyways I hope you enjoy, and aren't put off by how slow-moving this story is.

Clover figured her sisters, Petunia, in particular, wouldn’t mind all too much if she was a bit heavy-handed with the Patchouli oil. For starters, it smelled like the fragrant perfume that Petunia favoured to douse herself in each morning. Even more importantly, when invigorated with sunlight and well wishes for three days, the herbal base was a powerful additive in potioneering to amplify one’s more magnetic features to the opposite sex.

Petunia for lack of better words, was boy crazy, in all her pubescent glory.

Removing the currently immiscible mixture from the Bunsen burner, Clover recalled the late nights last year where Petunia would recount the surprisingly lengthy relationship gossip circulating her secondary school.

“Donna and Matthew have been traipsing around for two weeks now. They’ve not made anything official, but it’s coming soon enough, which is such a shame because Donna is so lovely, and Matthew is… well she could find a better boy. Such is the turmoil of young love though,” Petunia would roll the words off her tongue as if they were gospel as she would shift through the tops in her closet for the best blouse to wear during her weekly Saturday outing with the other teen girls of Cokesworth.

“You know Clover, I will tell you this, as a woman you need to know your worth. Some girls will simply accept any boy who makes their hearts flutter in the slightest, but they are sorely mistaken. A woman needs to be selective in the boys she spends her time with, or else people will begin to think that you are easy. Not to say Donna is easy, but, well, y’know,” she trailed off.

Blossom had later told Clover that she believed Petunia had simply been projecting her jealousy that Donna, her best friend, had found herself a boyfriend before her.

“Petunia’s prone to envy and you know it. I would go as far to say is that it is her fatal flaw, and she’s become so accustomed to justifying it to herself that in the original stories she used it to reason some genuinely poor treatment of your future nephew.”

Clover poured the cooled nearly gelatinous brew onto the stone slab workbench of the empty potions’ classroom. With a dull blade, she sectioned the concoction off into three roughly equally sized portions before transferring them to various tools.

The first was moved into the mortar and pestle which contained obsidian shards, to promote strength and clarity, and shield against emotional negativity. It should help to curb some of Petunia’s lesser habits such as stoking the rumour mill for self-validation.

Contrary to popular belief, Petunia’s ill sense of self-esteem was not wholly a reflection of treatment by their parents, but rather more so a reflection of her friend, Donna’s, struggles. If it could be said that one would never see Lily without Severus by her side in Cokesworth the same rang true for Petunia and Donna. So close in fact that Petunia had taken to adopting some of Donna’s insecurities as her own as she entered secondary school and was beginning to form an identity for herself.

It is important to remember, Donna’s parents had given birth to a son with down syndrome some years ago, and as such struggled to rightly balance their attention between the small boy who required his parents for the most basic of daily functions and their older daughter who was already quite independent for a nine-year-old. Thus, a girl who grew up quick was forced to grow up even quicker, and Petunia at her side was a natural reflector. Including the spite, she held towards younger siblings.

Clover was occasionally on the receiving end of this animosity, but Petunia viewed her more as a protégé than a sister most times, and she was often spared, unlike Lily who would evoke the brunt of Petunia’s verbal wrath.

The black dust of the obsidian when incorporated unfortunately turned the balm too dark for use in Petunia’s fair hair as is, so Clover crushed in about a standard crystal vials worth of Steeler shell before setting Petunia’s portion back over low heat. She was careful to keep her eye on the bubble colour so as to remove the hair serum when it would appropriately settle to the same dried wheat hue.

Moving on, with the edge of her knife, Clover pulled Lily’s section forward.

Lily may be Petunia’s main adversary, but the young lioness wouldn’t be caught taking flack without a fight. Her temper was as brutal and scalding as the roaring fire her hair so closely resembles. Though Petunia was often uncouth and tactless in her insults, Lily’s carefully curated responses would cut deep to deliver fatal blows.

“That boy is so odd, Lily you’ll be a social pariah if you continue to senselessly mess about with him. For the sake of the family please think of the consequences of your actions!”

“For the sake of the family,” Lily had dryly drawled in a way Blossom wasn’t aware an eleven-year-old could.

It had been one of the few fights between the sisters that summer, but it was one of the most ruthless that Clover had seen.

“You must have the family in mind then when you and Donna were to leave with that man she’d met in town. Getting yourself kidnapped, or worse killed, was for the good of the family, right?”

Petunia sucked in a breath so sharp Clover could feel the sting in her own lungs.

“He didn’t kidnap anyone,” Petunia argued weakly.

“No, but you would’ve let him if that’s what Donna wanted. You’d do anything she asked like a fool while she threw you to the wolves faster than you were even accused.”

Petunia had the sense to downcast her eyes. It was true Donna had shifted the blame to Petunia the moment her parents began to question who, this Thomas fellow they were talking to, was. Donna may have been Petunia’s best friend, but few would say her sense of loyalty to their bond was reciprocated in the slightest.

Petunia had that habit, attaching herself to people who she believes give her value by depreciating her sense of worth without them. She needed, craved, security in any form. Even if it was fake. Especially if it was fake. It was as if her brain was hardwired to reject affection that isn’t transactional, as deceitful. 

Lily despised Donna, almost as much as Petunia despised Severus, which is why Petunia’s constant nit-picking on her choice of company quickly sparks the fuse in the young girl.

Clover shook the distilled beaker of lavender essence back and forth to dissolve the acidified chilli seeds within it before stirring the adapted mixture over low heat as well. Lavender is a potent ingredient in creating calming draughts, and the chilli seeds were used in hex breaking, based upon Clover’s research they should help in taming Lily’s particularly forceful magic which can further agitate the sensitive girl during an argument.

Last was the batch she’d set aside for herself. She flaked in nettle first, to add a gloss to her hair when she used it and burnt knotweed ‘to protect the eyes’. The aforementioned eyes were not physical, but spiritual, and though Clover was sceptical that her hair serum would do much to protect her from any powerful Legillimens attack, she figured it couldn’t hurt to add.

As each of her brews began to simmer, some thickening as others thinned, she carefully poured the finished mixtures into the aluminium tins Diana had her brother buy for her when he’d gone to Hogsmeade the past weekend.

She’d just finished pouring the final tincture when the sound of a familiar voice echoed through the room, “Regulus my boy, yes thank you for coming.”

She could not hear the boy’s response as he was far less boisterous than the rosy-cheeked head of Slytherin.

“No, of course I hadn’t the slightest impression that it was your fault. A son of the most Ancient and Noble House of Black? Of course not! Still as a Professor I cannot give you a grade for work you did not do,” the door swung open to the humid underground class revealing the two expected figures.

Clover was scraping the residual nettle from her surface back into its glass container when she heard her name called out “Clover, you’re still here!”

She offered a closed-mouth smile “Just finished Professor. I’ll only be a little while longer as I need to wait for the cauldrons to cool before I scrub them out.”

“No worries my girl, carry on,” the amiable Professor clearly had his sights set on schmoozing the young bureaucrat and hadn’t the mind to pay attention to the lesser connected Hufflepuff.

“What would you have me do then Professor?”

It was the first time that Clover had heard Regulus speak, it was high pitched like many other prepubescent boys his age but held an air of self-perceived superiority only a cultivated aristocrat like himself could possess.

“I have all the materials prepared in advance because of Clover over there, just brew me a small batch of the cure for boils and we’ll be done with this little incident,” Slughorn proclaimed.

The boy remained silent, but Clover supposed the statement was rhetorical in nature as she wiped down the counter of the globs of aloe that had squirted all over when she was messing about with ways to extract the gel.

Grabbing each of the tools that didn’t belong to her she began the tedious process of carrying them across the room to the washbasins to begin dishwashing, the only upside was she was able to catch a glance of the lanky figure of Regulus perched over a potion’s textbook with a stray loop of hair slipping from its slicked back-formation and into his right eye.

Clover found he wasn’t what she expected in the slightest, at least not from what Blossom had described of the boy to her. She had of course seen him in passing that day in Diagon Alley, but she was barely of the mind to recall him in any detail having been so absorbed with his mother’s presence at the time.

The boy had a small frame for his age which was exaggerated by his shoulders which were currently slumped forward. The hair in his blank eyes couldn’t hide the slight grimace the boy wore as he read on.

His features were a queer cross of naturally sharp, but softened by the boy’s youth, aside from the deep shadow cast by his brow bone on his deep-set eyes. Clover Blossom wouldn’t call him particularly attractive, but then again, she wouldn’t call any eleven-year-old particularly attractive. Nonetheless, he had a polished potential he was likely to grow into, one that would likely shatter pureblood ladies’ hearts everywhere.

Without her attention on her work Clover failed to notice the rising temperature of the running water she was working under until a sharp sting bit her skin. Drawing back, she sucked in a wince of pain through bared teeth. Thankfully quiet enough to not draw her company’s attention.

Slughorn had deserted the room and was flitting around in his back office doing whatever it was the plump wizard did. Clover walked back to her workbench to carry over the particularly heavy cauldron she had been working in, now thoroughly cooled.

Her peripheral caught Regulus finally beginning to prepare his cauldron and collect his ingredients. 

The potion was short and simple,

Add six snake fangs to a mortar and pestle and crush to a fine powder free of any clumps. One should be careful that it doesn’t touch any wet ingredients before it is time to add to the cauldron as this compromises the effectiveness of the extractive property of the potion. Many, due to this not being well known, add to the cauldron immediately after crushing, as Regulus did.

The cauldron should already be considerably hot before starting to add the potions base of a thin layer of skinned horned slugs, a handful of nettle over the top and a coating of Flobberworm mucus, almost like an incredibly unappetizing lasagne. One should leave this to heat in these layers until bubbles begin to burst on the surface.

The cauldron should then be removed from the heat where two, distinctly two, porcupine quills should be added to the cauldron. Now is also when Clover would add her powdered snake fangs. The dry ingredients should be incorporated by mixing the potion five times clockwise before returning to heat.

A bit of powdered ginger, which is powerful in banishing potions such as this one, and if you’ve done all other steps correctly, the perfect potion should turn a pretty periwinkle, and you can take it off low heat and bottle the milky concoction.

Regulus seemed to be following the textbook to a t, as a glug of horned slugs and pungous onions were poured into the pot while Clover finished up scraping the bottom of her cauldron. With a wave of his wand over the potion he removed from heat and swiftly crossed the room entering Slughorn’s office likely to go fetch the man.

Unable to quell her curiosity, Clover stopped to look into the still bubbling cauldron as she made her way to leave.

Clover knew right away that it was far from done, the first reason being it was a deep forest green, not periwinkle. Secondly, because there were still giant clumps of slug which meant Regulus failed to add his acidifying ingredient, which was the pickled Shrake spines in the recipe he was following if Clover recalled correctly, and finally because it smelled awful, which was not a characteristic of the odourless potion.

She couldn’t tell you why she did it, but she picked up the fresh lemon peels and shaved Rumbum horns, which should counteract the seeming mistakes, and dropped them into the cauldron. She watched as the mixture bubbled for a few seconds, a large bubble rose above the surface, before bursting into a puff of pink smoke revealing the periwinkle shade the potion should have been.

Feeling uncomfortable to stand there any longer, she quickly rushed to pick up her bag and make her way to the exit.

“Regulus m’boy, this potion is near perfect, as expected of a Black.”

Said boy only allowed his eyes to flash for a moment on the back of the tiny Hufflepuff who was in the process of slipping out the door.

“Thank you, professor.”

It seemed as if she had only just arrived, but soon enough Clover was back aboard the Hogwarts express to return to Cokesworth for the Christmas holidays. Despite her best efforts, she was unable to locate Lily before the train disembarked, so she settled herself in the cabin the rest of her roommates, who were also returning home, shared.

They talked about their usual topics of conversation, quidditch, classes, the still yet to be dubbed ‘Marauders’ most recent prank. It was shallow, preteen chit-chat, and Clover found the more she was with these girls, the more she came to enjoy the company. She didn’t even flinch when they would unconsciously touch her anymore.

Leaving the train at King’s Cross, they were far more teary-eyed than they should’ve been considering they were only parting for a week and a half, nonetheless they shared in a momentous group hug before dispersing off to find where their families would be waiting for them.

If the clock was to be trusted it was nearly half-past seven and Clover was dying to get something in her stomach, so without hesitation, she crossed through the boundary to the muggle side of the platform and with the precision of a heat-seeking missile navigated the crowd to the mildly unaware company of her parents. Tossing herself in her mother’s arms, she was greeted by the warm smiles of her mum and dad, who slowly morphed into a look of confusion.

“Where is Lily?” her father asked while Clover had turned to give him a hug of his own.

“I dunno,” her voice was muffled as she pressed her face into his coat, soaking in her father who she wasn’t aware until this moment that she had missed so dearly.

“You weren’t together on the train?” her mother questioned.

“No, I couldn’t find her, so I just sat with my dormmates.”

Eventually, the girl broke away from the hug in time to catch her parents sharing a look of concern at the news.

“There’s no need to be worried,” she swiftly corrected. “She probably just got on later than me and my friends were already asking me to sit with them, so I didn’t look for long.”

Her parents looked a bit more relieved at the news, and thankfully it wasn’t long before Lily herself emerged through the barrier, and they were on their way home. It began to weigh on her mind, however, how often had she’d spoken to Lily since they’d arrived at Hogwarts.

There was the one time in the library where she’d pointed out the book on Charms that had helped her the most when she was first learning spellcasting, but she was soon pulled aside by Marlene who urgently needed to tell her something or another.

There was the time they had crossed paths when Clover had stayed late in potions class to try an alternate recipe to the cure of boils that she had only been experimenting with at the time. She’d unknowingly bled into the next classes time and was coincidentally in Lily’s seat. The two girls had discussed what she’d been doing and the theory behind it but were cut short by Slughorn beginning class and despite holding the Professor’s favour to some degree Clover was quick to make herself scarce.

They’d spoken briefly after Clover’s meeting with Professor Sprout as she had recommended, but Lily’s attention had been halted by the sight of a mucous covered Snape who looked as if he was teetering on the brink of full out sobs or pummelling someone half to death. Perhaps both, his fists had been tightly wound, and the grip was so tight Clover believed his knuckles would burst from the sheer pressure of it all. Obviously, Lily didn’t pay too much mind for her sister at the moment as she tried to soothe her seething friend.

The sparse moments flashed before Clover’s eyes vividly upon the backdrop of the dark flatlands with the sporadic illumination of the streetlights overhead.

Uncertainly, Clover’s hand crept from where it was quaintly resting in her lap and to where Lily’s was placed in the open space between where the girls were seated in the back row of the car. The feel of Lily’s warm thrumming magic pulsing below her hand brought comfort, and as the older girl gripped back, the swirling sensation of release crept up Clover’s arm and wound itself around her heart.

She’d closed her eyes with her forehead resting against the cool glass of the window, ultimately drifting off to sleep. Unbeknownst to her, her father had carried her in that night, special perks of being the baby, but she had subsequently gone off to bed with still no meal in her stomach.

The next morning, which one could claim is melodramatic, Clover awoke with the feeling that her stomach was indeed caving in on itself, and she rushed down to the ground floor with the sole intent of indulging on the fried eggs she could smell wafting up the stairs.

Petunia was stood over the stove, with a frilly apron tied around her waist and just as she’d done to her parents, Clover all but tackled the girl in her embrace.

“Good morning have a nice sleep?” her elder sister asked petting the younger child’s hair with one hand as she tended to the cooking with another.

Clover simply let out a non-committal grown as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“Would you like one egg or two?” Petunia prompted as Clover progressively detached herself taking a seat at the table beside her father who had a copy of the paper in his hand.

“Two please,” Clover responded, looking around to see that neither Lily nor Mother were present. They were likely both still asleep.

Petunia served up the food with a precision that could only become of the years of practice she’d had in cooking for herself and her sisters when her mother would unintentionally sleep in most mornings.

“Thank you pet,” her father said as she placed down his dish before him. Clover had merely flashed a beaming smile before crudely digging in.

Her older sister sat on her left side, daintily poking at an egg and slice of toast of her own, but really making no progress in finishing her food. If the way her skin clung to her bones or the loose way her dress was falling on her was any indication, Donna had likely roped her sister into ‘dieting’ with her again.

“So,” her sister began breaking through the sound of cutlery clinking against the plate. “How has Hogwarts been?”

Her father let out a snort of laughter “Is there anything she could’ve possibly missed in those letters?”

The three shared a pleasant smile as they recalled the frankly ridiculously detailed accounts Clover had sent home every fortnight about what Hogwarts was like. She had chosen to withhold the turmoil she faced over her difficulty with spellcasting but had no discretion in recounting every last detail of what her classes were like, or her dormmates, or how spectacular the architecture of the castle truly was.

“It’s better than I imagined, but it’s still school,” Clover said shovelling another bite of egg into her mouth.

“Oh?” Petunia urged her to continue.

“I mean of course we are learning magic, which makes the whole process of learning far less tedious, but it is still lecture and theory and homework. We still have to be in bed at a certain time at night and be up for classes early the following morning. There are still tests to stress over and assignments to struggle with,” Clover explained, trying to portray Hogwarts less so as a paradise as her letters home she feared made it sound.

“You? Struggle in school?” her father light-heartedly mocked.

“I’m quite bad at magic actually,” Clover admitted, and Petunia turned to her sister with a look of shock that she quickly schooled to sisterly concern, “I thought they were going to kick me out earlier in the year because they’d made a mistake.”

“But you said that your potions teacher claims you were one of the best he’s seen in years?” Petunia deliberated.

“That’s true, but Potions is one of the few classes that really heavily dips into non-magical practices, it’s like a cross of chemistry and cooking, it takes a certain degree of precision and a certain degree of intuition and creativity to excel in it, your magical control really has nothing to do with it” she turned to her sister seeing that she hadn’t fully accepted what Clover was saying as of yet. 

“Like how you can take a number of snickerdoodle recipes which are all a bit different and then draw from their elements that make your amazing snickerdoodles. I guess my magic just innately clicks with it because what I am doing is so familiar, but the actual spellcasting I am quite tragic at actually,”

Petunia took Clover’s left hand, the one not currently holding a fork, in her own. Clover supposed it was a bit peculiar how often the Evans sister’s hands would entwine, but then again to them, it wasn’t.

It meant all sorts of things to them, the simple touch. Sometimes to comfort, sometimes to assure, sometimes call the others attention. More often than not, though, it was to remind the other that they were there, that they were real, to ground them from the place beyond reach their mind had wandered.

Clover would literally lose herself in her own internal world, but Petunia would lose herself in somebody else’s, and Lily, she would lose herself between her worlds. They needed each other to remind themselves that they had something to return to, a sanctuary they could not find within themselves.

“Morning girls!” their mother called making her way into the kitchen with her hair in a humorous state of disarray.

She grabbed herself a slice of toast off the table before turning to the cooker to fry herself up her own plate of eggs.

“How was your sleep my little flowers. Oh, it’s so lovely to have my full garden again!” Both girls rolled their eyes at their mother’s prolific use of flower jargon.

“It was great Mum, how’s the work down at the shop been?” Clover asked knowing based on her mother’s ill-disguised remarks in her letters that she was itching to vent to someone and vent she did.

She barely acknowledged Lily, who’d found her way into the kitchen sometime after taking a seat beside Petunia and preparing herself a bit of toast as well. The girls found themselves laughing at their mother’s dramatic account of the pompous customer who couldn’t seem to fathom as to why they did not carry silk in the small retail store their mother worked for and found their snickers only growing at the off-handed commentary their father would add in as he’d seemingly heard the story once or twice already.

“Girls I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” their mother opened after her story drew to a close, “but your Aunt and uncle will be joining us this year for Christmas as they’d just come back from France, but they’ve not yet found themselves a place to stay and will be taking your room for the next few weeks. I’d agreed without fully comprehending the logistics as you’d been away at Hogwarts.”

“So where will we stay?” Lily asked rightfully so.

“You’ll be staying in Petunia’s room; it will only be for the break before you’ll leave me again all too soon. They should be arriving later today so we should probably get to moving your things over if your done with your food,”

The girls, and their father who was begrudgingly roped in, had left the table to transfer their things, which with the aid of some underage magic on Lily’s part had cleanly fit all their belongings into two trunks and carried them across the hall. Their mother had set up two identical cots in the room for the girls apparently sometime before she’d come down for breakfast that morning, but Clover reckoned she would rather sleep on the floor if the fact that when she’d dropped her blankets on top the legs collapsed, was any indication of its sturdiness.

“Hello Uncle Walter, Aunt Catherine, how have you been?” Clover welcomed when she’d answered the door upon their arrival.

“Very well darling, we heard that you are attending that same boarding school as your sister. It’s always lovely to see young girls taking care to pursue their academics,” their Aunt quipped casting a glance at Petunia who was descending the stairs.

“Thank you, Catherine, my little flowers are quite remarkable in that right!” Their mother called from the kitchen, “Robert, go help Walter with their bags, Catherine you are more than welcome to join me in the kitchen.”

Their Aunt sniffed at the thought of hanging her coat upon their overflowing coat stand but hooked it nonetheless before strutting off to greet their mother face to face.

Petunia had made her way down the stair and was admiring the soft black fur that trimmed the coat, while Lily lingered conflictedly at the top of the steps.

“How beautiful,” Petunia breathed out, she’d always been enamoured with their Aunt and uncle, or more specifically their beautiful things.

“How expensive you mean,” Lily corrected having finally made her way beside her sisters.

“It must’ve cost them a fortune,” Petunia agreed delicately rubbing the fabric as if it were some exotic pet.

“More than they could afford probably,” Clover mumbled, which received a glare and a smirk for Petunia and Lily respectively.

Their Aunt and uncle were known to live well above their means but live in quite a state of denial of the fact. They came from a lower-middle-class background as the Evans did as well, but they lived as if they were next in line for the crown.

The girls were told by their mother, who was their Aunt Catherine’s sister, that there was a time in which their uncle Walter had quite a well-paying job in French-based company in London where he acted as a liaison, but after the company filed bankruptcy a quite a number of years ago their Aunt and uncle in no ways compromised on their lavish lifestyle spending a most of their time in Paris living off the fortune of their friends and other connections.

Until now, Clover supposed. The two were likely far poorer than the Evans themselves at this point with all the debt they’d undoubtedly accumulated over the years.

The first two days were tolerable, Uncle Walter was a quiet man, and their Aunt was easily avoidable. However, Christmas day pushed Clover’s nearly unending patience to its limits.  
“So, girls tell me what’s it like attending that school of yours. Really it is so impressive that you managed to find your way into such a prestigious school for the gifted as your mother tells me,” their mother had a funny way of bending the truth-finding lying to be the gravest sin one could commit. 

“And on a scholarship no less! Though I suppose that should’ve been to be expected the two of you were always quite intelligent. Tell me what are the people like there, I am sure there are a lot of high-class students you find yourselves mingling with,” it was clear that Lily was not paying a bit of attention to what her Aunt had to say as she gazed deeply at the gravy boat before her. Clover, unfortunately, couldn’t find it within herself to tune the woman out feeling it would be far too rude as the woman was looking at her.

“I’ll tell you this girls, you should find yourself a nice boy during your time there, a good husband makes for a good life,” she assured; however, she was rather implying that a rich husband made for a good life.

“It’s so great that you’ve been making these new connections Lily dear, I was a bit worried for you when you were hanging around that dirty boy from the end of the road,” Lily finally broke from her stupor at the words and Clover could feel the beginnings of a storm rolling into the quaint dining room.

“Severus attends my school as well,” she retorted through thinned lips.

“I see,” her Aunt drawled, “well in that case my dear I hate to say it, but you really should distance yourself from that boy, nothing good can come of staying acquainted with such lowborn folk,” Clover gripped to Lily’s wrist to remind her that it was neither the time nor place to start a fight.

“She’s not worth it,” she whispered to Lily.

“Lowborn?” the livid sister bit out. “As compared to who? To you?”

“Lily,” Petunia started, and from this point, Clover knew there was no hope in maintaining the peace “you must see that there is some merit to what Aunt Catherine is saying.”

“How, if she wasn’t so unsuccessful herself, she wouldn’t need to live off Mum and Dad’s charity right now. I hardly think she’s in the position to be criticizing anyone.”

There was silence in the dining room as everyone waited on bated breath for the next move. Aunt Catherine’s face was blank for some time before it flushed so red it gave Lily’s hair a run for its money.

“Well, I never!” she proclaimed, addressing her sister she turned to Petunia “Clearly sister you’ve not been doing a proper job at raising your children, one is entirely unremarkable” she cast her glance on Clover, “another socially inept” she looked to Lily “and the only one I thought had a chance at turning out alright clearly has no sense of manners or decorum! I will not sit here and be berated by a child!”

Her Aunt stood from her seat shaking the table from the force she put into sliding back her chair, “Walter we best be on our way because I cannot stand to be here another second!”

The woman stormed from the room and up the stairs, likely to pack her things. Uncle Walter let out a sigh as he put down the forkful of roast beef he’d been raising to his mouth. Casting an apologetic glance around the table, the man silently trailed after his wife.

“That was wrong of you Lily and you know it,” her father scolded as her mother was still in too much of a state of shock to speak a word.

“She was the one who was in the wrong” Lily shot back, still tense from the situation that had just unfolded.

“So were you,” her father refuted. “You should go apologize for what you said.”

“I will not! She spoke ill of a boy who she didn’t know, she was criticizing my sense of character!”

Their mother at a loss for words just shook her head and began clearing the table, their father following suit.

“You shouldn’t have said that Lily” Petunia piped up.

“Oh, shut it, you’re just as bad as she is, she called you unremarkable and you still regard her as if she is some kind of royalty to be fawned over.”

“She didn’t call me unremarkable,” Petunia insisted.

“She did your just too dense to realize.”

Clover decided she should’ve given her sisters their gifts early this year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We meet Regulus, for the second time now, and if you could've guessed by the tags he will play a major role as this story unfolds. 
> 
> I know this story is really slow-moving, but I feel there is too much both conceptually and emotionally to be explored before I thrust into the thick of the conflict I have planned for this first arc. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed and as always feel free to comment I love to read them and they genuinely make my day, that and any criticism would be great because I’m not a perfect writer and I love to hear others insight on what they don’t like of what I’m trying to portray.


	8. Chapter 8 (but more like 7.5) ~ Easier said than done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Hey so I'm sorry for writing this smaller filler chapter of sorts, but I realized that where I ended the last chapter didn't fit with the outline that I have a nasty habit of not sticking to which really messed with how I was going to set up the following chapter. Thus, here you have a little look inside Clover's mind again before we head back to Hogwarts.

The Evans sisters had entered a cold war of sorts. Lily is taking a literal meaning to the concept as the room would physically chill in her presence. Clover wasn't too sure if this was intentional considering her sister's almost prodigious control over her magic.

On the other hand, Petunia had barricaded off her room with her dresser and was denying any entry in and out as she believed everyone in the home to be the enemy for sending her favourite Aunt away in such a fit. Clover began to wonder how long the older girl's stockpiles of sweets and crackers would hold her over. Though, knowing that whatever her estimate is, pales in comparison to how long her sister would keep this up out of sheer stubbornness, she resigned herself to the fact that it could indeed last until the end of the break. 

This left Clover locked out of one room and frozen out of another, leaving the only acceptable option for sleeping the well-used loveseat in the living room. 

Was Clover expecting to have chronic back pain from sleeping in the cramped foetal position to conserve warmth under the unquestionably unsubstantial throw blanket? Of course, she was. Was she willing to put herself anywhere near the centre of this fight so she wouldn't have to? Absolutely not. 

She thought both of her sisters were in the wrong to some degree. 

Petunia's continuous defence of their Aunt and ruthless criticism of their sister's actions had torn the sisters already shaky relationship at its foundations. It was one thing to criticize your sister. It was another to not defend your sister in the slightest as you back another in berating her choices. 

Lily was more than a bit too far in her words. Regardless of the nonsense, their Aunt would spew, she was in a vulnerable position as a person and to push that in her face so plainly was no better than the cruel words she would spout. If it had been in genuine defence of a friend that was one thing, but Clover knew it was otherwise. Aunt Catherine questioned Lily's capabilities in judging another's character, and Lily has never taken well to being told she is less than. 

"Evening Mum," Clover said as her mother had wandered into the living room mug in hand. 

"Hot cocoa?" was her simple reply to which Clover gratefully nodded stretching out her arms to grasp the cup at its handle. 

"No luck with your sisters?" her mother asked solemnly. Clover reckoned the dark circles under her eyes were likely due to the intense shouting match she and Lily had entered the night before. 

"Haven't tried," she took a sip from the mug letting the hot sweetness coat her tongue. Her mother gave her an exasperated look clearly, not liking her answer. 

"Why not. You've always been the best at getting through to your sisters, Lord knows your father and I are hopeless without you," her mother implored. 

Mother dropped herself back sinking into the couch. Her eyes were closed, but you didn't need to no her to recognize the tenseness in her form. 

"This isn't something I can bridge for them," Clover said watching her mother rub at her temples with a slow, but consistent up and down motion. 

"What dear?" her mother asked not having caught what her most soft-spoken child had said. 

"I said," she raised her voice just a tad "that this isn't something I can bridge for them." 

"What do you mean Blossom baby?" Her mother must genuinely have been stressed. She only ever used the endearment Blossom baby when she was incredibly tired, or incredibly plastered. 

"There was no misunderstanding here. Lily meant what she said, and Petunia meant what she said. They both disagree with each other's perspective and neither is willing to agree to disagree," Clover explained. 

"So why can't you tell them why they should agree to disagree then baby?" 

"Because neither wants to hear me talk unless I am telling them I'm on their side," Clover resolved. 

Her mother sighed. Her fingers dropped from their temples, and her arms outstretched. Naturally, Clover crawled immediately into the open space abandoning her now drained mug on the coffee table and sinking into her mother's embrace. 

"Why can't your sisters be as level-headed as you?" her mother asked as she brushed her hands through Clover's scalp in a way that was incomparably soothing. 

"Where would the fun in that be?" Clover countered which got a small chuckle out of her mother that made Clover's entire being vibrate both from the physical feeling of her mother's laugh against her skin and from the way, what she believed was her magic, fizzed up within her. 

"Right as always my Blossom baby," her voice had dropped half an octave as it usually did when she was edging towards sleep. 

They both soon drifted back into the realm of dreams together. Or, at least her mother did. 

On the other hand, Clover would find herself in a dark room with only the soft glow of a pale blue light overhead illuminating the outline of Blossoms figure and a short round table. 

"Where are we now?" Clover spoke into the room, a bit exasperated with how inconsistent her mindscape seemed to be. 

"The room of faded memories, and Clover don't tell me you expected your mind to be anything close to consistent," her distracted voice accused. "Have you met yourself?"

"I've met you if that counts," Clover responded. 

"Huh," Blossom looked up she had one of those magnifying devices jewellers used to assess the quality of their gems on her right eye. "That's a fair point, I guess that would count." 

"Why have you come to visit me?" Blossom asked. "It's been quite some time since you came here, not that there is any reason you would want to come visit little old me when you're at Hogwarts learning magic." 

"Nothing against you I've just been so drained from my spell-casting not working that I haven't had the energy or the focus to find myself here when I sleep," Clover defended. 

"You've been having trouble with your spellcasting?" Blossom asked, seemingly unaware. 

"Yes! Where have you been?" She was somewhat dumbfounded that this personally omniscient figure would have missed such a large source of conflict for herself. 

"Down here," was her blunt reply. 

Silence entered the room for a moment. 

"I'm going to be real with you for a second," Blossom stated. "Not that I am fake with you, but I want to make myself clear here." 

Clover nodded, not knowing where this was going. 

"I've been down here since after the sorting ceremony because I was curious on how the original theories, I'd read compared to what we experienced but," she paused for dramatic effect. 

"When I came up to the room and got down the book, my pages on the founders were either empty or faded or torn apart." 

"Torn apart in what way?" Clover probed. 

"Like half the page which I am assuming was my cannon basis was ripped out and what I am guessing is faded fanon was taped in. Just goes to show you how much reading fanfiction can distort your perspective on things,"

"So what you're saying is," Clover trailed off. 

Blossom locked eyes with the small girl, "What I am saying is that I am not some all-knowing all-credible source of lore and inside intelligence. There's no way to tell where my information is sourced from and there is even less means to verify if any of it stands true in this reality. By all means this is probably an alternate universe because you exist in it." 

Blossom walked across the small room and gripped Clover's wrist with one hand, pressing the thick tome to her side with the other arm and directing the two of them out of the room and into the brighter more familiar halls of the knowledge warehouse. 

They crossed through travelling up the staircase at the end of the row into Memory lane and then slipped down an alley into the embarrassment theatre. Both were quick to rush through that room as a tape of Clover peeing herself when her mother insisted, she could hold it for a few more minutes while she took the bags from the boot of the car played. 

Up another winding staircase and they finally arrived in the bedroom, the covers of the bed now refitted to match the black and yellow décor of her Hogwarts dorm. 

"That was all you girly," Blossom explained. "You've got just as much influence in here as me you just don't know how to control it yet." 

"I can't control much of anything," Clover mumbled under her breath. 

"Tidbit number two for today, you need to drop this negative self-speak. It helps no one. I understand you're frustrated, but the longer you say you can't do something, the longer it will be before you can actually achieve it." Blossom scrunched up her nose, "Ew," she sniffed in "that sounds like a line from a self-help book, but its true." 

Clover just looked at her blankly, and Blossom gave up on emotional breakthroughs with the stoic girl today. She was nowhere near as in touch with her emotions as she should be, which was most likely Blossom's fault due to the effects of the personality split all those years ago. 

"Whatever, the big thing all this discovery leads to though is that there are so many things that can be different just by you being here. The biggest one being maybe if Petunia and Lily's relationship remain civil Harry will have a proper upbringing after Lily passes away, or maybe Harry will never be born, or hopefully Lily will never die!" 

"Wait what? What do you mean Lily dies?" Clover exclaimed dumbstruck by this new information, and that was when Blossom remembered she'd never revealed such a fact to her other self for fear that she wouldn't be capable of handling it. 

"In the original series," Blossom took a seat on the bed and patted the seat next to her, but Clover remained rigid where she stood. "Lily and her husband James die in the war and the story began with Petunia taking in little Harry after he'd been orphaned."

"Why? How?" Clover sputtered. 

"They were killed, for reasons I am not comfortable sharing as of yet because nothing is set in stone. There is still time to change things, we just need to take it slow and pivot ourselves as necessary," Blossom consoled. 

"Why didn't you tell me this earlier! Why are we doing nothing to stop this! How am I ever going to look at Lily the same?" Clover was in hysterics dropping to the floor her hands gripping her hair straining it at the root. 

"I didn't tell you before because I didn't know how much you could handle, and I wasn't sure if there was anything, we could do to stop it. Not that I wouldn't have you try, but I didn't want you to blame yourself if the consequences were inevitable," Blossom lowered from the bed kneeling before the child and taking her in her arms. Clover squirmed rejecting her hold at first but eventually sunk into the older girl's chest. 

"We can change things?" It was less of a question and more of a plea, not to Blossom, but to anyone that could help her redirect fate. 

"I believe so, even if the odds are against us, I don't think there's any impossibility." 

"You said that I've already changed things, that Petunia and Lily are still on good terms, but now they aren't speaking to each other and things are so much worse than you had made it sound like they were originally." 

"We never knew much about your sisters' childhood except for bits and pieces given by outsiders, or vague insight from Petunia. For all we know this could have happened in the story and we just never heard about it. You cannot be the only reason your sisters end a fight, it's not fair to you and it's not fair to them." 

"I'm not being selfish am I?" Clover asked her eyes welling up with tears. Uncertainty, she couldn't escape it if she tried, and with each passing day, she drew further into its depths, and she wasn't sure how much longer she could hold her breath. 

"Is it selfish to think of yourself?" Blossom asked in a weird way of answering the question but adding no insight in the slightest. 

"Isn't that exactly what selfishness is? To think of yourself before others," Clover dug the nail of her pointer under the bed of her thumb relishing in the sting it brought to keep her mind from sinking. 

"Do you think of yourself before your sisters?" and Clover's teeth ground at the prospect. She always thought of her sisters first, would Petunia be upset, would she anger Lily, would she be a burden to either of them if she acted this way or another.

"Not usually," she sighed, switching to digging her thumbs nail into her pointer as her thumb became numb. 

"You feel you're thinking of yourself before your sisters now?" Clover couldn't see where Blossom was going with this, they had already come to that conclusion. 

"Yes," she bit out through gritted teeth. 

Blossom smiled down at the little one's irritation "How so?" 

"I am allowing them to destroy their relationship with one another," her words were spoken as if Blossom was incompetent for not understanding this fact. 

"Do you believe that if you intervene this won't happen again?" Blossom prompted finally edging closer to where this circular conversation was meant to go. 

"It probably will, but maybe if I don't help now they won't be able to forgive each other," Clover whined. 

"Do you know that?" she didn't allow Clover to answer. "I think it would be far more selfish to continue to intervene. You would be making your sisters reliant on you to continue their relationship and you were doing it out of personal desire not their best interest." 

Clover swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth "I thought you also wanted Lily and Petunia to get along," her voice signalled betrayal, but Clover knew better than that. 

"I do," Blossom smiled, far less condescendingly this time. "I just don't want you to feel responsible for them getting along. It's not healthy for you, you're only one person." 

Clover nodded sinking back into the girl accepting her words. She felt her consciousness begin to slip. 

"I'll see you soon, alright. Don't worry all too much about the things you can't control." 

Clover and Blossom both knew that was easier said than done.


	9. Chapter 9 ~ Better luck next time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Has been updated to the edited version.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, this platform and quotev will be updated before fanfiction.net as I have a beta reader now to look over the version I post on there. If you would like to read the more polished version the first time please follow the story over there, but this version will have more frequent postings. Thank you.

It was really something quite amazing how a few words could change someone's entire outlook.

When Clover had first come to Hogwarts, she came with a thousand expectations based on her sister and Blossom's accounts. Some expectations that fell short of reality were absolutely shattered, like the excitement of travelling through the ancient halls when her legs cried out in agony from all the stairs each night. Others were reaffirmed, like how breathtaking watching magic, actual magic, being cast before her eyes, was.

Clover had been full of thousands of expectations and overwhelming the eagerness to explore magic.

For her, the awe of the magical world would never truly go away. This was perhaps exasperated by the distance she had held from magic for so long. Yet, this awe, was superseded by utility when Clover had returned to Hogwarts after the break.

_Lily was going to die._

It was this thought that consumed Clover.

Of course, she knew she Lily would die one day, they weren't immortal merely magical, but to think her sister would die so young was unfathomable to Clover. Part of her was already putting her all into her studies at the mere thought that there would be an upcoming war she knew she would be unable to turn her cheek to.

_Lily and her husband… James, they will die, and their young son will be orphaned._

The thought alone told her one thing, her all wasn't enough; she needed to do more.

"File in," Slughorn's voice called echoing off the stone crevices of the low-ceilinged workspace they were cramping in for the day.

Due to unexpected incidents during the second-years class the day prior, the first-year students were forced to crowd into the unfamiliar classroom that was typically used for alchemy when the NEWT course is held.

"A bit of a change in scenery does one some good," Slughorn was attempting to quiet the mumbles of irritation filtering out from the group who found the heat of the small underground room increasingly arduous to bear.

Clover found herself towards the front of the room sitting on one of the pale wooden stools from she found underneath her workbench.

She didn't quite mind the different classroom as there was distinct energy in the air that Clover could only describe as the essence of vitality. Like when you wake up in the mornings, good mornings at least, and can feel the rush of being alive from within you. It was energizing to her, but she couldn't say as much for the rest of her classmates.

"Settle down everyone." Slughorn commanded the noisy classroom. " Now welcome back, I hope you all enjoyed your holidays. I know I quite enjoyed mine, there was this fantastic yule party I attended hosted by the high chancellor of the Wizengamot himself who served a wondrous array of exotic dishes-" the chatty man cut himself short at the blank stares he was receiving in response.

"Yes, well anyways," Slughorn cleared his throat, shifting a bit at the front of the class.

"As you all know there was an unfortunate incident of an explosion in the Potions lab yesterday during our second years lesson, that has deemed the usual classroom unusable for the next few weeks until we are able to remove the gruffhoove saliva from the floorboards."

The man raised one finger into the air, gesturing to the students, "Which as you all know from chapter seven, causes severe pustules to develop upon contact." There a several grimaces at the imaginations of the grotesque reaction of the toxic saliva.

"As such our lessons for the foreseeable future will be taking place in here. Due to this opportunity, I thought it would be best to reorganize you all based on your performance during our Cure for Boils practical as we've seemed to encounter issues in performance due to," the Professor paused a bit to search for the right word, "incompatible partners."

Murmurs broke out again through the class as students turned to look at their partners who'd they'd selected themselves at the beginning of the year before casting their glances around the room to assess who their Professor could possibly think to stick them with.

Aside from Clover that isClover lacked her classmates concerns, she'd been with some Hufflepuff boy she'd never caught the name of, and didn't particularly care either way who ended up as her new partner, especially if it was a matching based on skill.

"Please take a seat where I point out as I call your names," Slughorn announced conjuring a pale parchment scroll from seemingly nowhere and squinting a bit at the names he'd written down.

"Gwendolyn Appleby and Amy McLaren take your seats in the back right over there" he gestured to the final desk in the far-right corner. The two girls were seemingly delighted at the prospect of having each other as partners and were equally dreadful in the art of potions potion making despite all the advice Clover tried to pass along.

"Aegis Caprine and Arthur Mattick", he looked up at the Hufflepuff and Slytherin who seemed to be sizing each other up from opposite sides of the room.

"Go on take a seat," he urged, "right over there."

This went on for some time seeming to seat the worst students in the back and increasing in skill the farther front they were placed. Clover wasn't quite sure she saw the logic in keeping the struggling students in the back, but she reasoned she wasn't the teacher. Eventually, he'd made it to the front row where Clover hadn't bothered yet to rise from, her seat seeing as she knew she'd be somewhere along this row.

"Tammy Mamani and Ralph Stonier," Slughorn called and the two Hufflepuffs made their way to the front taking a seat at the bench to Clover's right.

"That just leaves our most accomplished potioneers., Clover, my girl, you seemed to have already found your seat," he offered her a self-aggrandizing smile that Clover wasn't sure how to interpret, "Mr. Black you may take your seat beside Clover here."

Clover swallowed thickly. She wasn't so prejudiced as to make preconceived impressions of a boy she'd never spoken to, but neither was she so naive to assume that a boy raised in a family of pureblood mania, who in some version of himself had gone so far as to join the ranks of a genocidal overlord, should be particularly keen on being her partner.

Needless to say, she held her back straightsat with straightened posture as the silent Regulus Black swept past her and lowered down into his seat. Nnot once did her casting a glance at Clover and instead he keeping his eyes trained forward on their professor.

The lesson for the day was simple, just a lecture on the properties and uses of Murtlap Essence, which they would be using to prepare the base solution of most healing potions next class. Even with class drawing to a close some an hour or so later, Regulus' eyes had not shifted once onto his partner, even as he pivoted around to quickly exit the room.

Perhaps this partnership would be more efficient than she expected thought Clover., Aalthough based on his performance before the holidays, she clearly knew she'd still be the one doing all the work.

Yet, even with being quite welcome to change, Clover was thankful for the consistency of her other classes, picking up on lessons picking up right where they'd left off before the break.

Her first week after Christmas had hence taken off without a hitch. That is if you choose to ignore the fact that she had still come no closer to finding the cause of why she could not perform her any spellcasting properly.

She’d decided to reach out. Fat luck she’d had trying to find all the answers on her own and even with Professor Sprouts direction she found herself getting nowhere. 

"Professor Flitwick," Clover had called after her final class that Friday. Due to unfortunate cloudy weather, the students would not be attending their typical Astronomy class later that night, so the remainder of Clover's day into the weekend had been freed.

"Oh, Ms. Evans, hello what can I do for you?" the small man piped from behind his desk at the head of the room.

Though Clover believed she was a few inches taller than the Charms Master on level ground, from his platformed position, he towered over her at this moment.

"As you know Professor, I struggle a great deal with the practical aspects of this class, and even with all the reading I've done at your recommendation, I haven't seen much progress. I guess I was just wondering if you would have any idea as to what I could do as I seem to be at a standstill here Professor," Clover unloaded desperately straining herself to maintain respectful eye contact despite everything in her wanting to downcast her eyes at her failure.

"You've spoken with Professor Sprout?" Flitwick asked pausing his writing for a moment and giving the young student his full attention.

"Yes Professor, near the beginning of the year."

"Did she tell you her theory on your magic?" he asked.

"Yes Professor, she said that its connected to my emotions. She called it being an empath, I've done some reading and I can admit that it fits in some ways I suppose, but no breakthroughs have come of it. I have pretty good control over my emotions, so I don't understand why I'd be experiencing such a block," Clover rambled, and the Professor let out a hum as he tapped the quill against his chin in thought.

"What was your accidental magic like when you were young?"

Clover drew her bottom lip into her mouth and bit down, trying to recall any accidental magic aside from her deliberate attempt with her sister's wand just over a year ago.

"I can't think of any accidental magic that I've done when I was younger Professor."

"None at all?" This seemed to interest Flitwick who raised an eyebrow at her curiously.

"No Professor," Clover said dejected. A hair seemed to have loosened from her braid and was irritatingly brushing along her cheekbone, so she roughly pushed it back behind her ear.

"How peculiar, I'm sorry to say I am not well read in students with magic like yours, I am a generator myself, but might I recommend going to see speaking with Professor Sprout again," He suggested unnecessarily. It was already in Clover's plans to do so sometime later next week.

"-or maybe Professor McGonagall I do know she has a bit more understanding on the theory of magical sources than I," Flitwick continued and Clover took a mental note to fit that in after class on Monday.

"-but Clover when we are able to overcome this little hurdle please feel free to stop in and I will be more than happy to catch you up. There is a lot of potential in you to do great in my class regardless of this little hiccup. Okay?"

Clover offered the kind master dueler a smile, a genuine smile, full of warmth that the Professor returned in kind.

"Thank you, Professor, I will be sure to do so, please have a nice rest of your evening."

She grabbed her bag and began to exit the room, the hard soles of her shoes echoing off the cathedral-like structure of the Charms class.

"You as well Ms Evans!" the Professor called out.

With her schedule free until Monday, Clover was not one to waste time. Back to the library for Clover, it was.

Her head of house had been caught up at her parent's home with a bad bout of food poisoning striking the Sprout family's Christmas feast due to the addition of pokeberries, which were kept on hand to feed the local wildlife, to the cheesecake instead of blueberries. Pokeberries though reasonably safe for animals were quite poisonous to humans, and her Herbology professor wasn't likely to be returning to Hogwarts for a few more days just to be safe.

Thus, Clover was on her own for the weekend, and if she knew one thing, she would not be wasting a moment of the time whilst she had access to this library. When summer falls, she'd be at a standstill for progress. She couldn't hope to find nearly as many books in such a variety that Hogwarts offered, and she hadn't the money to pay for them even if she could.

A flash of red darted in her peripheral- Lily. Her sister had not spoken to her since the incident on Christmas day, just as Clover had expected.

Even with this expectation in mind though, Clover was hurt that her sister was so willing to estrange herself from her over an issue she had merely been on the fringes on. Clover was all for being loyal to one's friends, but Clover thought for as much as they were sisters, they were friend's as well. Did she really mean so little? The thought burned bitterly in her mind.

Then again, they weren't even teenagers as Blossom had pointed out, she had made her choice to remain neutral on this one, and in due time this feud would blow over. Although, if there was one Evans trait that stood out above the rest, it was their ability to hold a grudge.

Clover left her bag at one of the library chairs before she entered the narrow pathway lined by towering shelves of books all sizes and colours.

As she had found out, there was really no rhyme or reason to how the books were ordered. At least not from the standpoint of one who was searching through them.

The books were stocked in the method that was most comfortable for the books as Madam Pince liked to put it. Many of the books contained traces of magic indued by the authors and sometimes unconsciously by those who read it and just like people some magic doesn't didn't mix all too well.

If one was to, per se, place _Bubbling Grindeylows and the Depths Below_ beside _The Hieroglyphical Account of Ra_ , the aggressive water magic of the Grindeylows when mixed with the ancient solar magic held within the hieroglyphics would likely result in a blazing fire setting alight the shelves while a swampy flood flowed down the aisles. In other words, utter chaos.

So, Clover without any particular goal in mind would idly walk the aisles until she found herself drawn to a spine and she would add it to the pile. She had long realized that the magical world is especially sensitive to being told what to do, and the best method tended to be to follow the path of least resistance.

Not always, such as it is poor form to follow a dark overlord even if it is the easiest option, but the magic itself reacts best to being guided as opposed to being commanded. It is an extension of one's being, like Blossom was to her, she supposed.

If only she could find her magic in the first place so she could, at the very least, know it was there.

Her arms were weighed at this point by the stacks of tomes as she reached for what she decided would be the last book she would pull before returning to the chair she had claimed earlier. Even on the tips of her toes, however, she was unable to do more than brush the bottom of its spine with her fingertips.

"Here, let me get that for you," a pleasant voice offered, long manicured fingers pulling the book down. Rather than placing it upon her stack, the hand grasped the top few novels from her pile and drew them to her chest. Raising her eyes to place a face to the voice, and hand, she was met with Philomena, her sisters Ravenclaw friend whom she'd not spoken to since the train all those months ago.

"Y'know I see you all the time in here and if I am frank, I still don't understand why you were placed in Hufflepuff. You lost me five galleons with that," the older girl said tilting back her head as if to say Clover should begin to walk.

"I don't know, I think it's a good fit for me," Clover meekly replied. She didn't quite know how to talk with this girl whose commanding presence made her feel like an ant at her side. Really all of Lily's friends had that about them, that residual power that leaked from their pores.

They were generators, as Clover had come to understand from her studies. Their magic was like electricity that began from this spark within themselves and crackled outward leaving a trail of almost static residue everywhere they go. Philomena's was a soft thrum, not quite as overpowering as Lily's often was, but still very apparent when she stood as close as she did.

"How so?" Philomena questioned, and Clover was beginning to get frustrated with all the questioning she was receiving lately. She wasn't a sharer, she was a listener, but she found herself doing more and more talking as the days went by.

"I don't think I would've stood a chance in Gryffindor; they are too competitive, and I would only find myself questioning my place there, especially if I felt I would have to live up to Lily's impressions," Philomena nodded seeming to agree, she didn't say anything waiting for Clover to continue.

"I wouldn't have made a great Slytherin because I'm not particularly skilled in interpersonal relationships, to survive in Slytherin you need to know how to form bonds. But even more so, you need to know when bonds ought to be severed else you'll find yourself in a state of ruin and, I just find myself incapable of giving up on people even when I should," Clover wasn't all too sure where the words she spoke were coming from, but she felt they were the truth and still Philomena didn't stop her, so she continued.

"I am sorry for your loss. I can get you those five galleons back if you like?” Clover’s proposition made Philomena smile and shake her head, but she didn’t say anything waiting for Clover to continue

“Ravenclaw wasn’t for me because it would have blinded me to where I am weakest by reinforcing where I am strongest. I know things, I know a lot of things, and though Ravenclaw has the sharpest minds, not every question can be answered through thorough thought," Clover knew this to be true, if the answer to her troubles right now could be found in a textbook or through logical reasoning, she wouldn't be struggling in the slightest.

"So why do you think you belong in Hufflepuff?" Philomena asked, curious about how the typically quiet girl would reply. She hadn't heard all too much from her on the train, but this was not what she had been lead to believe of the brash albeit brilliant Lily Evans younger sister.

"Our late matron's intention was for us in her house to find our own reason for being here, her simple message was with effort there is hope," Clover recalled what said woman had proclaimed during her sorting and felt the similar motherly warmth fill her.

"She didn't give us answers to our problems, but only reminded us that there is some way to find them. I don't have the luxury of knowing how to be brave or cunning or creative, at least not naturally, but I can find it for myself in due time. That's why I belong in Hufflepuff," and Clover thought that perchance she was being a bit dramatic.

Philomena and Clover had finally emerged into the dimly lit sitting area of the library.

"That's beautiful," the girl paused, "you know I don't think I've ever met a Puff like you before," Philomena said as they made their way to Clover's chair.

"You must not have spoken to many Hufflepuffs, I'm not particularly special by any right." Replied Clover quickly.

"I wouldn't say tha-" Philomena began but Clover cut her off.

"I would,” there was a clench to the younger girls jaw as she chastised herself for being so rude. However, there was no point in stopping now.

“I don't know where our impression came from," Probably the founders' bias, "but really the houses are so arbitrary I don't know why we give it so much sway in how we view each other. As if there can't exist a cowardly Gryffindor or an unstudious Ravenclaw, it's all a bit daft really when you think about it."

"Fair enough little Evans," she said with a laugh, but Clover wasn't sure what she'd said that the girl could've found funny.

"Y'know you can call me Clover,” It seemed her mouth had it’s own agenda today. 

“It'll get a bit confusing if you ever talk with me and my sister and call us both Evans," Clover said, but quickly backtracked "Unless you don't want to, you're more than welcome to call me whatever you like."

"I'll see you around then Clover. It was nice talking to you, don't be a stranger,"

Philomena placed down the books having finally found Clover's seat in the library that was substantially less crowded than when she first arrived. The older Ravenclaw headed off, and Clover began to wonder what her purpose of coming to the library was in the first place.

It was likely nearing dinner, but Clover had already decided she would go about finding the kitchen that night instead of cutting her time short to make it to the great hall.

Regardless, the conversation faded from her mind soon enough as she pried open the book on the top, the one Philomena had gotten down for her, _The Soul, Magic, and Sentience._

Where better a place to start for the night?

By eleven Clover was being escorted from the empty library by an irritable Madam Pince who was unhappy with how many books Clover had taken out. Clover though was careful to know that the Hogwarts's limit was exactly seven books at any time and she'd already returned all her outstanding literature that morning.

She'd dropped off her things in her dorm, careful to be as silent on her feet as possible considering the rest of her dormmates were fast asleep. Turns out aside from the first night they were all early to bed and early to rise. The return from the holidays made that quite apparent.

Slipping into her nightdress and a pair of particularly cushioned slippers to quiet her footsteps, Clover edged out of her bedroom and crept through the silent common room. It was strange to see the room entirely empty because at any given point in the day it wasn't unusual to find a smattering of students scattered about. Either sitting around and chatting, or playing gobstones in the centre, or caring for the plants.

Now, with the greatly dimmed artificial sunlight filtering in, like that at dusk, there was a whole new ambience to the humid room. The age of the room permeated through every crevice without the students filling it with their youthful magic; it was a weighty feeling with a pressure that slowly seeped itself into your being before crushing down upon you.

Clover had to hold her breath as she zipped across the room to the entrance, and it was only when she'd found herself on the other side of the doorway that she felt capable of releasing the air inside her lungs.

The kitchen should be somewhere to the right, at least that's what Diana's older brother had told them. She just needed to find the painting of fruit and to tickle the pear, easy enough.

Clover kept one shoulder pressed against the wall as if that would provide her with any refuge if a Professor or Prefect were to catch her out in the halls at this time a night.

_Find the picture of the fruit. Tickle the pear._

Clover kept repeating the thoughts like a mantra in her head to calm her spiking anxiety as she realized she really had no idea where this kitchen was, and every moment she is out in the open is another moment she could get caught.

She whipped around thinking she'd heard footsteps but saw nothing, so she took a moment to steady her racing heart and continued forward.

Another sound, she turned her head trying to find its source, but still nothing. She could've sworn she heard voices, but there was no one in sight.

Eventually she just conceded that her anxiety was producing auditory hallucinations and just decided to pay them no mind.

With a hand against her beating heart, Clover came to stop before a floor to ceiling painting of a bowl of fruit hanging on the wall. With nimble fingers she swept up and down against the pear and heard a faint, but distinct giggle erupt before a doorknob appeared.

She peeled open the door, happy that its hinges were well oiled as it didn't make a sound when she slipped inside.

It was as if she'd stepped into a furnace; however, as a wave of heat overwhelmed her. She almost turned around but resolved she had already come all this way.

The inferno of a corridor didn't immediately open to the overflowing magical kitchen as she was expecting, but instead continued on for a long stretch before forking off into two directions, both of which had a small bit of light filtering through.

She approached the fork in the path, but realized the light was slipping from beneath two unlabeled oak doors, she wasn't quite sure what was beyond the other, but she hoped one was to the kitchen. Her inclinations pushed her left, and as she was coming to understand her instincts were typically right.

Now one is never quite prepared to meet a house elf. There is something innately endearing, and yet entirely upsetting about their entire existence which would have been enough to devastate Clover. Yet, their magic was truly something else.

It wasn't like a witch or wizards, which with all the different textures hold the same base of will, or intent within their magic. It may not sound like a feeling, but even with one's words you can feel intent. If someone were to say criticize the Hogwarts security measures that would invoke one feeling, but if one were to say those same words with the intent of challenging Albus Dumbledore, well that would very well manifest itself differently.

The elvish magic wasn't like that of the goblins either. Goblin magic had a distinct leaning towards elemental magic, particularly fire and earth, and would leave the smell of soil and charred wood behind after casting. It also would radiate a slight heat for a short while where it had been cast.

The elvish magic was something else entirely, it didn't tingle, or flow, or bubble. It brushed like a slight breeze, it held a muted fragrance, not one that was universal, but Clover would assume was specific to each elf. Clover didn't doubt that the elvish magic could hasten to a hazardous hurricane with gusts tearing through everything in their path, but that was not what she experienced in this moment.

None of the house elves looked up from what they had been doing, and that was reasonable, they were all fairly busy. Some were cracking eggs, five at a time into large bowls, while others were using their collective magic to stir a large rod through the butter churner. Still there were others clearing and cleaning each surface before someone else would rush to fill that space preparing some ingredient or another.

Suddenly, Clover felt ungrateful for not enjoying the food they worked so hard to prepare in the dining hall. Part of her thought she should just wait until morning and not bother them now.

She was about to turn on her heel when "Merlin, I've never been so hungry in my life!"

The elves ears perked up like that of an animal when they'd hear danger approach. Clover slipped towards a small alcove in hopes of avoiding whatever would make the poor creatures react in such a way.

"I can second that one mate, y'think they've got any pork sausage cooking?" A second voice.

"Probably, breakfast is in a few hours."

"I just want some of that leftover sticky toffee pudding, they still have some of that right?"

"They'll just fight over who will make it for you if they don't Pete," Clover's brows furrowed, as if the elves didn't have enough work on their hands.

Eventually the door swung open to reveal four young boys, who each strolled into the room as if they were the owners, or more accurately the owner's entitled son.

"What can we's do for yous masters?" a more feminine presenting elf with her little flour bag puff sleeved dress held up by a twine bow asked.

"Three pork sausages, a goblet of pumpkin juice," the first boy with dark mahogany curls that just brushed the tips of his ears, Sirius, demanded.

"Two éclairs!", another with almost black hair in a complete state of disarray, James, called out, cutting the first boy off.

Resuming his order, Sirius continued, "All the stiffy toffee pudding you've got left, Pete here's been beggin for more all night," he slapped the scrawny boy to his right, Peter, harshly on the shoulder and Clover could see him bite back a wince.

"Is that all the masters would like?" the elf asked as they avoided eye contact with the boys who couldn't be more than their second year. Which Clover knew to be correct as she could recognize this set of second-year Gryffindors anywhere.

"I'll have a cuppa and a custard tart, thanks" the boy towards the back, Remus, spoke.

"Hows about yous Miss?" and like a scene out of a horror movie the four boys all turned around, fairly impressively in sync, to stare down at Clover.

Biting back a stutter she summoned all the courage within her, "I missed dinner tonight, I was hoping if you had any leftovers, I could have some please, or I could fix something up myself if that's fine by you, no need to make more work for yourself."

She was rambling and she couldn't stop "Your bow looks incredibly cute by the way, did you do it yourself?"

The elf's face flashed through a series of emotions from patient intrigue, to shock, to appalment, to pleasantly abashed.

"No needs to cook miss, Nipsy will make yous a plate with the young masters', just take a seat," they gestured over to the long wooden tables, near replicas of those found in the great hall, with a faint pink flush to their cheeks.

"Thank you, Nipsy," Clover made her way to the Hufflepuff table and steeled her mind for the absolute torture she was about to endure as she waited in the room with the 'Marauders' who were unfortunately aware of her presence.

"Isn't that the Puff who we coated in the ghost sludge at the beginning of the year?"

"Quiet Sirius she can hear you, and its ectoplasm," presumably Remus, based on the voice, tried to silence the shameless boy.

"Whatever, she was dumb enough to walk into it on her own, and she's a Puff isn't like she's going to say anything."

Clover bit down on her tongue so hard she thought she was going to bite through.

"Isn't that Evans' little sister?" a new voice added to the mix, Peter, if Clover was correct from the distinct squeak.

"Snivellous' friend? The know-it-all who always has something to say in class?" Not quite the reaction Clover was expecting from her future brother-in-law.

"Yeah that one," Remus said, absolutely eclipsing Clover's hopes that any of twelve-year-old boys were close to tolerable as they were now. She truly just wanted to bash her head into a wall until she couldn't comprehend their words anymore, but she just looked down at her hands as they spoke.

"Here you goes, three pork sausages and pumpkin juice for Master Black, two eclairs for Master Potter, stiffy toffee pudding for Master Pettigrew" the house elf heaved an entire tray of the sweet dish onto the table, "and a custard tart and cup of tea for Master Lupin."

Thankfully, Nipsy had placed them down on the table far across the room, the Gryffindor table, and made their way to Clover with another dish floating behind her.

"For Miss…" Nipsy trailed off, and Clover took it they were asking for her name.

"You can call me Clover, my name is Clover Blossom Evans,"

"How pretty! For Miss Clover, Shepard's pie with a side of butternut squash and pumpkin juice, is that alright for Miss?"

"This is more than alright Nipsy, thank you very much for all your help," and Nipsy let out a little squeak.

"Anytime Miss, if you ever needs any help just ask for Nipsy!" and Clover smiled at the house-elf finding their reaction to her politeness incredibly charming and at the same time quite unsettling because it only served to remind how awful everyone else seemed to treat them.

"I'll be sure to do so, thank you again," with Clover's reassurance Nipsy nipped off to somewhere out of sight and Clover sunk her fork into the doughy crust of the savory dish.

She was enjoying her first bite when the clattering of a dish being placed down in front of her drew her attention.

"Little Evans, right?" Potter's hazel eyes bore down into her and every fiber of herself was set aflame with her fight or flight instincts at the predatory nature of his gaze. Not the type that an unsavory man might set upon a woman as she walks down the street, but the type that precludes his next prank victim. Mischievous some might argue, but there was something about it that just screamed a predator who'd caught sight of its prey to Clover.

She was hungry though, and she had gotten here first, so she wasn't going to leave, so instead she nodded.

"Your sister is Lily Evans?" Peter added as if James hadn't basically just asked her that same question. Regardless another nod.

"Are you mute?" Sirius asked bluntly.

Clover took in one deep breath and contemplated if it would be better to just pretend, she was, "No I'm just hungry."

"'Course a Puff can't talk and eat at the same time would take too much thinking," Sirius remarked none too quietly. None of the boys said anything in opposition.

"Why'd you miss dinner little Evans?" Potter asked, and Clover was beginning to really regret ever coming down to the kitchens, she should've just slept on an empty stomach.

"I was in the library, didn't want to waste any time," Clover shoveled another bite of squash into her mouth and cursed all the etiquette lessons Petunia had made her endure as she found her pace of eating far too slow, but she didn't want to make Nipsy's food go to waste.

"You sure you're not a Claw? Never heard of a Hufflepuff spending their whole night in the library," James started, but Sirius quickly answered his friend, "She's a Puff, probably took her the whole night to read a chapter."

Her appetite was gone, but she kept bringing forkful after forkful to her mouth.

These were the future men she was getting all torn up about saving? She might as well just tell Lily to never marry the oaf and they wait out the war in safety, to hell with the so-called Marauders!

Clover couldn't stop herself "What is your problem with Hufflepuffs?"

Sirius' eyes were nothing like his brother's. Regulus had dull grey eyes that never cast a shadow of emotion, so much so that Clover reckoned he was either the most well-guarded boy she'd ever met, or he truly could not feel.

Sirius on the other hand, his eyes showed everything, so much so that Clover felt as if a rod of ice was pierced through her spine as he stared down at her. His eyes were cold and filled with nothing but distaste, as if Clover herself was the scum on the underside of Filtch's filthy shackles he hung from his belt to intimidate the younger students.

"Nothing wrong with a Hufflepuff," Potter cut in, "at least nothing like being a Slytherin. No need to get defensive little Evans."

Clover tried her best to keep breathing, she didn't know what it was about the Black family that gave them the capability to absolutely paralyze her.

"I'm finished eating, have a great rest of your night," Clover dismissed them as she rose from her seat plate and cutlery in hand.

"Nipsy where can I put my dishes?" she called out, she didn't receive a response, but another elf came padding over and with a snap the plate whipped from her hands and into a wash basin, "thank you."

She left, paying little mind to what the boys were saying behind her back.

They were quite obviously the subject of discussion between Blossom and herself that night. Blossom tried her best to defend their behavior, but Clover really couldn't care less for excuses. Twelve years old or not, they irritated the living daylights out of her, and she would be taking every opportunity she could to avoid them.

Two days of sleeping in and an early Monday morning rolled around.

McGonagall's class was as disheartening as ever as she watched her fellow classmates with envy, transfigure a compass into a pocket watch.

Meanwhile, she merely sat aside reading into the theory on why the transfiguration of one tool into another is inherently easier than the transfiguration of say a rock into a pocket watch. The text claimed it was due to the similar properties of intent of use within the subject being transfigured. The purpose of abetting the witch or wizard as tools is maintained. This being the basis of the witch or wizard's perception of the object, creates a far more straight forward transfiguration process.

Transfiguration is heavily rooted in the concept of perception. In fact, in reality, Transfiguration is the temporary transformation of how an object is perceived.

By some grounds it is true that the object is being physically changed from its original form, but physicality is rooted in perception. Properties beyond our basic senses to guide tangibility cannot be thus altered by this art. Thus, as Gamp’s law had stated, life, or nutritious food cannot actually be created through transfiguration, as perception can only hope to imitate these complex concepts.

It's all a bit confusing really, but the gist is Transfiguration takes the phrase 'fake it 'till you make it' to a new level.

"You're dismissed," Professor McGonagall had announced as class had drawn to a close. Progress was slowing down for the Transfiguration class as only about an eighth of her students were successful in their transformations and the Scottish Professor didn't seem all too pleased with in this development.

"Excuse me, Professor," Clover approached the desk feeling all too similar to when she had approached Flitwick, but far more nervous as Professor McGonagall was definitively far from the excitable little wizard.

"Yes Ms. Evans?" McGonagall was flicking her wand, and Clover watched as all the compasses soared into the top drawer of her desk.

"I've spoken with Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick a bit, and it was recommended that I speak with you about what you might now about my magical block. Or at least what you know about how being an empath could affect my magic,” the words tumbled out as she didn’t stop for a moment trying to make sure she did not stumble over her thoughts.

“I've been reading up on it and I have to say I really don't understand in the slightest why this would be affecting me so much,” fists clenched at her sides. “Most of the books say that being an empath has the exact opposite effect! Just that when they are in a bad environment or bad mood they might expect a block, but I've had none of that so-"

"Did you come here to ask me a question or give me your thesis Ms. Evans" the older witch cut her off sharply taking a seat as she gestured for Clover to do the same.

Clover bit her lip; she figured the question was rhetorical, so she didn't bother to respond.

"It is true that empath magic doesn't typically react in the way yours does, but it is very clear Ms. Evans that you are experiencing a block. I understand that this is all very confusing to you, but might I suggest that you look elsewhere than a book to find answers to why you are unable to properly spell cast in my class."

The advice was good, but Clover never wanted to hang her head in shame more in her life. Then again, that was how McGonagall generally often made her feel.

"Professor Sprout will be returning this Friday,” she regaled shifting a few papers on her desk together into an orderly pile.

“We've already discussed some methods of trying to clear this block, and Professor Sprout seems to be of the belief that what you need is meditation,” her lips thinned only in the slightest, but she gave no other indication of her opinion on this matter.

“If this still does not work,” her voice raised a bit at the end as if to grab Clover’s attention which she’d never lost.

“-we will move on to other methods, but might I recommend take a break from all these ceaseless hours in the library Ms. Evans," she gave Clover a stern glance and the small Hufflepuff gave her a squeak of affirmation.

"Very well, I will see you on Monday, I wish you the best of luck Ms. Evans," and Clover was sent on her way with her mind in shambles.

She'd meditated before. It was how she was first able to meet Blossom. Now she can enter a meditative state as easy as she could breathe. There was no possible way that this was going to work.

Friday evening came soon enough, she'd be leaving for Astronomy in a few hours, but her head of house said she'd had dinner prepared for the two of them to get comfortable before they begin on their 'spiritual journey'.

With each passing moment, Clover was becoming surer; this was an awful joke the professors were playing on her.

The roast beef and boiled potatoes she shared with the professor were quite delicious, though.

"Now Clover dear, come with me," the motherly woman called pushing open a door in the back of her office.

She followed through without a wordlessly. It was a dimly lit, but homely sitting room with brown furniture and moss green carpeting. The walls were paneled in a plain beige. Visually, there was nothing really that stood out about the room.

"Take a seat, get yourself comfortable," Sprout encouraged, fluffing the pillow of an armchair before sinking in herself.

The door shut behind Clover as she allowed herself to melt into the formfitting cushions of the plush seat. She had to admit, there was something it was very relaxing about this room

There was something soft about the air, but even as she took in a deep full breath, she couldn't place it.

"That's good Clover, deep breaths dear," Clover followed the instruction. Silently questioning the peculiar scent in the air and the drowsiness it seemed to cause. What was that smell? What was this feeling?

Soon, she began to drift, her view of the room fading, her mind blurring.

"Clover," she heard a quiet voice, it sounded far off in the distance. Clover considered opening in her eyes, but couldn't and decided she didn't really want to.

"Clover," it was closer this time, but not close enough for Clover to care.

"Clover!" the voice shouted, and it was like the person was right beside her ears, which she was, Blossom that is.

"For god's sake Clover, acknowledge someone when their calling for you, you scared the shit out of me," Blossom swore glaring at the child without any real heat behind it.

"Sorry, I was a little out of it," Clover admitted she rubbed her eyes with her hands to try to press away the lingering dizziness she felt.

"I'll bet, I'll admit I was a little bit skeptical, but it looks like they were on to something," Blossom rubbed at her in soothing circles.

"What do you mean?" Clover had to remove her hands to glance at the girl in questioning.

"Look around you ditz," and Clover did. They were in some sort of cobbled room with no exits. There was just a short table with a small pewter box and a line of torches hanging on the walls that burned with purple fire.

"Where are we?" Clover asked.

"Hell if I know," and Clover knew at once something was amiss. Blossom knew everything, well maybe not everything as she had admitted herself, but everything in their mindscape at least.

"I don't know anything about our magic," Blossom claimed, "maybe this is a good thing."

Clover pushed back from where she was seated against the wall and approached the box in the center of the room. It was pulsing the closer she came, and it felt as if there was a tether that began somewhere in her feet and travelled through her veins and up and out her brain.

She felt strong. She felt powerful.

"Do you think this is it?" Clover asked, but she didn't really care for a reply, she knew what this was, her magic.

"What else could it be," Blossom offered anyways, trailing only a step behind.

Clover reached out to touch the top of the box the pulsations growing ever stronger.

Her fingers were mere centimeters away when "Clover!" the voice of Professor Sprout rips her away and back to reality.

"I'm sorry dear, maybe we'll have better luck next time, you've got your Astronomy class in a few minutes," Clover bit back a scream.

_Better luck next time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Okay I know a lot on her being a Hufflepuff, I, unfortunately, came across a story with quite a bit of Puff bashing and this was my spiritual response. On the other hand, making some progress with the magic and we met the Marauders! I know the build with her magic seems very slow, but nothing worthwhile comes quick and I think Clover's a lot denser than she lets on. I hope you enjoyed it. As always drop a comment with your thoughts I'm always eager to hear them!


	10. Chapter 10 ~ Don't let it go to your head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think there is any warning needed, but the term trauma is used and there are a few more intense emotional scenes to brace for if you are sensitive to those. All very vague for the meanwhile though.
> 
> Also, I realized if I upload as a rich text you get the italicization so there you go I guess.

“There were no doors; it was entirely enclosed in stone. I think it may have been the same stone as the castle,” Clover mused aloud. She and Blossom were sat in the garden they’d hosted the founders in, The Garden of Reflection.

Looking into the pond was like looking into a pensive of sorts at their memories. Of course, just like a pensive, the pond was equally as prone to memory corruption.

Blossom only hummed as she watched the same memory of Clover waking up in the dim room repeat on a loop.

“Any ideas?” the younger of the two asked.

“A few.”

Silence lingered only the sound of the trickling of the small waterfall into the pond filling the air. It had not been more than a day, but Clover was desperate to return to how she felt as her fingers hovered above the box. The box that contained the magic, her magic, which had brushed over her skin like silk, lulling her senses into a dull daze.

She could feel her own mortality, the fragility of her human body without the protection of her magic. She craved for this protection, this security with an ache she felt in her bones.

She’d nearly fainted when she’d found her way up the astronomy tower that night, as the overstimulation from each students’ auras encroached upon her from every direction.

Not even a day since then, Saturday afternoon, and with the excuse that she required an overdue nap, Clover had shut the curtains around her bed and slipped into the shelter of her mind.

“Would you like to share?” Clover drawled contemptuously. She had long since deserted the niceties with her other-self.

Blossom’s eyes were darting about blinking erratically as she tried to piece her thoughts together.

Clover liked to watch Blossom think; it was captivating. Despite being the same person, _sharing the same mind_ , they processed thoughts so differently.

If both were given a puzzle, Clover would rely on the logic- of starting from the corners and moving her way inward. She sees the pieces that would fit from each consecutive piece, systematically working towards completing the puzzle. On the other hand, Blossom would start from a less organized place, building small clusters until she could see the bigger picture until she found how they all fit together.

They would finish the puzzle in roughly the same amount of time for the most part. However, typically the more abstract the puzzle, the greater Clover’s method was. Paying the images, no particular mind benefitted her as opposed to Blossom. 

Magic, to the girls, was as abstract of a puzzle as one could get.

“Okay, try to follow me on this because I’m afraid it’s not going to make much sense alright?” Blossom prefaced, and Clover nodded in affirmation.

“So, I think you were on to something about the stone and the castle, I agree that it does look the same,” the girls looked from the image in the pond and to the castle in the distance again comparing the two.

“Which got me thinking this alright, so our mindscape is just a manifestation of our mind, right?”

Blossom’s eyes rolled upwards as if to roll back into her mind, foregoing the fact that they were already sitting in it. Her fingers were rubbing together in the way they did when she intended to say something she knew required the right words the first time around. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty self-explanatory,” Clover voiced, and Blossom shot her a dull look.

“Anyways,” Blossom paused for a moment before continuing, “if the mindscape is a manifestation of our mind, anatomically, our brain is connected to the rest of our organs,” Blossoms eye’s locked on Clover’s with a quirked eyebrow as if to question if the other girl was understanding the direction she was taking with this inquiry. 

Clover’s thoughts drifted back to the steady thrum she felt in the room. “Like our heart,” Blossom confirmed.

“So, you believe our magic is located in our heart?” Clover scoffed. “A little cliché, don’t you think?” She shot Blossom a disbelieving look.

“Of course, it is,” Blossom brushed off the comment flippantly. She shifted a bit off of her knees and into a cross-legged position.

You’re looking at it too simply though,” she admonished. “I don’t think reaching our heart is as easy as you would suspect.”

“I mean I’ve never found it” she mumbled almost too quiet to hear herself. 

Blossom laid back on the grass her thoughts focused on how she’d designed her internal world since being thrust here. Years spent within her mind, not her heart, never her heart.

“Alright, let’s say this bizarre parallel is correct,” Clover ran her fingers through her hair absentmindedly.

“If this,” she waved her arms around gesturing at the scenery around them.

“-the mindscape is actually the brain,” Blossom hummed to indicate she was listening.

“And our magic was located in our heart,” she reiterated using the time to organize her thoughts.

“There should be, anatomically, a network of veins and arteries connecting the two,” she supplied, “it was closed off though on all sides, so I suppose that’s not an option then.”

She breathed out a sigh, but Blossom who’d been resting with an arm over her eyes snapped up into a sitting position.

“No, it still certainly is an option!” she’d all but screamed.

“What do you mean?” Clover asked her heart rattling against her ribcage from a scare she wasn’t expecting. 

“It’s all symbolic, holy hell I can’t believe I wasn’t thinking of this!” Blossom continued excitedly.

“Thinking of what? Finish your thoughts!” Clover chastised.

“Okay, so the reason we can’t access our magic is that there is a block, which we quite literally saw as all the walls were shut in, so there must be a physical block between our mindscape and our heart chamber,” Blossom rationalized.

Clover mulled the concept over in her mind, and it was beginning to make sense in a backwards sort of way.

“So, what are we going to do? How do we plan on unblocking it? We don’t actually know where the chamber is located or how to get to it,” Clover questioned guardedly.

She’d long since learned not to get her hopes up when the end seems to be in sight, at least not with the magical world. Magic is never as straightforward as it seems.

“Well, I tear down walls all the time in this place, just takes a bit of mental will, so it shouldn’t be all too hard,” Blossom mentioned nonchalantly as if it were self-evident. 

“As for locating the chamber,” her voice trailed.

A smirk quirked upon her lips, “Well, little one, are you up for a bit of exploring?”

Clover was not, but she didn’t feel she had much of a choice.

“You’re right. You don’t. C’mon!” Blossom grabbed onto Clover’s hand, dragging her as she so often does into the fortress. They’d entered into the knowledge warehouse- the space, aside from the garden and bedroom, they were most familiar to use as a starting place.

“Where to next then,” Blossom pondered aloud.

“Well, if we’re going with the brain analogy, we’re likely in the anterior cingulate cortex,” Clover provided, and Blossom looked at the young girl as if she’d grown a second head.

“Do you not know brain anatomy?” Clover questioned at Blossom’s odd response.

Blossom shook her head.

“But we read all those psychology books in primary school. I don’t understand how that is possible?”

“Well,” she dragged out the vowel as a sheepish grin pulled at her cheeks, “you did.”

“The book popped up before me, but in all honesty, I was too busy trying to figure out what was going on. Then to come to terms with the rebirth and all that. Then figure out how I’m going to relate to you and I’ve gotta admit I didn’t read them; I was the slightest bit occupied.”

Clover didn’t realize that her knowledge didn’t just transfer to Blossom in the same way her thoughts did.

“Yeah it’s a weird system, but would you mind putting what you said about the anatomy in simpler terms?”

“Uh, sure,” Clover wasn’t used to explaining things to other people, so she tried to think of how one would explain brain anatomy to a child.

“So if this were the brain, our long-term memories like those in the warehouse would likely be stored in the anterior cingulate cortex or ACC for short. The ACC is at the front of the cingulate cortex in the medial wall,” Clover still saw a blank look on Blossom’s face, so she tried to simplify the concept in a way that she would think Lily or Petunia could understand.

“Essentially it’s situated a little deeper within the brain,” she tried again. Blossom gave her a nod, understanding at least this bit.

“As I said, you find the long-term memory function there, which is the same for the warehouse. Not to mention the warehouse being located in the basement,” Blossom’s eyes were dashing around again as she tried to create a mental visualization of the mindscape as a brain.

Clover continued seeing as Blossom was starting to catch on, “However, it is said to be uniquely situated between the ‘cognitive’ prefrontal cortex and the ‘emotional’ limbic system, which if I was to take a guess is where we should probably be aiming to head to next.”

“The limbic system?” Blossom checked.

“Yes.”

“Alrighty let’s go then,” Blossom announced starting forward leaving Clover behind.

“Wait, where are you going! You know where the limbic system is?” she jogged to catch up to the slightly taller girl.

“No, but you said it was more emotional, and if we are trying to find the heart, I don’t think searching for a pathway based on logic, or more ‘cognitive’ reasoning, is going to find you there,” Blossom provided.

“Fair enough.”

Clover came to regret her words though, as it felt like hours that the girls were walking the halls. She had no concept of how much time, in reality, had passed, but when she walked past the shelf of Petunia’s recipes for what she believed to be the third time she firmly planted her feet and clenched her eyes shut.

“What is it?” Blossom enquired blissfully unaware of the extent of Clover’s irritation.

“We’re going absolutely nowhere! Maybe you should stop ‘following your heart’, and we should make a reasonable route going forward,” Clover seethed through her teeth.

“I wasn’t ‘following my heart’” Blossom responded plainly “I was following you.”

Clovers anger was dulled by her confusion, “Following me, but I was following you!”

Blossom allowed a wry smile to rise on her face “No wonder we haven’t found anything then! I haven’t been able to feel much of anything in years actually. I’m relying almost entirely on you to get us there,” she admitted.

Clover rested her head against the cool metal of the shelves trying to recenter herself.

“How about you give it one more try, and then we’ll rethink all this, but I really believe this is the way we have to do this,” Blossom tried to soothe the girl by rubbing large circles along her back.

“Fine,” Clover tried to feel for something like she did when she was navigating to the kitchen’s, her gut feeling, her intuition.

There was a lot of nothing and then, “Follow me.”

Like Ariadne through the Labyrinth Clover focused on the tether she felt faintly threaded through her toes as she followed its tugging. She moved slowly but built, in speed and confidence, as she wove through the aisles with swift precision. By the time they came to a stop before the smooth concrete wall, they were full out sprinting down the passage.

“Dead end,” Clover panted, her hands on her knees as she slouched forward.

“Is it?” Blossom asked.

Clover shot her a glare fed up with the indirect language the girl was so fond of using.

“Clearly, if you look forward, it is,” Clover languidly waved her hand in the direction of the wall. She hung her head again as lifting it to look at Blossom required too much energy.

“But” Blossom trailed off. Reading the frustration rolling off the small girl in waves now, she finished her thought far weaker, “is it?”

“What is that supposed to mean! Speak your mind. Stop talking in riddles!” Clover burst out.

“What if it’s not a dead-end, not really at least,” Clover didn’t say anything as Blossom paused yet again. “What if it’s a mental block… keeping you from the limbo something.”

“The limbic system,” Clover corrected.

That made sense. If there were a block on her heart, it wouldn’t be odd that there was a block in her mind as well.

“So what do we do about this? We never got this far in our planning,” Clover asked, finally collapsing onto the floor rather than attempting to keep on her feet.

“We unblock it,” was Blossom’s sure reply.

Clover wasn’t sure if she’d ever contemplated homicide before, but she was surely considering it at this moment. By Blossom’s flinch, she was most certainly aware.

“Thank you, Sherlock,” she seethed, “How!”

“Let me think!” Blossom shouted back, exasperatedly her hands raking through her hair as she too collapsed to the floor.

The girls had never experienced such animosity between themselves. They were usually two sides of the same coin, a perfect match. But now, sitting here, neither girl could recognize the other.

The anger was like they never experienced before, and it seemed to sink deeper and deeper within themselves—raw, unfiltered anger.

“What would cause a mental block,” Blossom thought aloud again, her voice eerily monotonal as she wracked her brain.

“What qualifies as a mental block, is it like writer’s block, or the type of block when you can’t remember an answer on your test that you’ve studied for,” she continued to rattle.

“No those would have to do with memory and creativity, not the heart,” she answered her own question again aloud to herself.

Clover looked on without seeing. She was tired of this mission. Tired of searching for her magic. Tired of failing.

Blossom rocked back and forth, appearing as if she was teetering on the edge of insanity. In all honesty, she very well was at this moment.

“Trauma! A trauma block,” she called out her voice echoing off the cavernous walls.

It all came together, and the guilt pressed down on Blossom greater than ever before. She had her suspicions that she may have been at the root of all this turmoil, but to have it all but confirmed at this moment put her over the edge.

She could remember it, but vaguely. The feeling of adrenaline burning through her veins. The thundering sound of her blood rushing through her ears. The flashes of bright lights, the crushing weight in her chest, the way her tongue felt like cotton in her mouth.

She could remember the feeling of something tearing within her, it was a pulling sensation behind her eyes, and then the feeling of folding in upon herself. There were heat and cold, and pain and chilling calm, and then she was here.

There was more, she knew there was more, but as she rocked back and forth, she could feel bile coat her throat, and it took everything within her to swallow it back and not give in. She looked to Clover who was looking at her, or perhaps beyond her at this moment.

She’d done that to this girl because she was weak. She was in this situation because she was weak. She was someone who hid from her problems. Avoidance was her best tactic, which is why she wasn’t meant to be here.

She just wanted to go home. She was scared. She wanted her mom, her dad, her sister.

_Home._

Everything crashed down on her, the guilt, the pain, the fear, the screams, the _anger_.

Sobs, wracking heart-wrenching sobs, ripped from the girl as she fell forward curling into herself.

Clover not expecting this type of response froze, the frustration within her sinking away as she watched her other self, shatter before her.

“Blossom,” she gently called out as she slowly crawled forward, but her whispers were no competition for the howling cries.

“Blossom,” her voice rose a little louder, but still not enough to compete with the girl who was unaware as she lurched in her sorrow.

“Blossom!” Clover had gripped both biceps and shook the girl as she began to stir from her stupor, and the panic of watching Blossom break down began to set in. 

A stinging sensation singed its way up her arms and was like she dove headfirst into a frier as white-hot pain wracked through her body, and Clover couldn’t help, but lose her grip. Thankfully, Clovers recoiling returned some semblance of rationality to Blossom.

The older girl slowly lifted her head, tears still streaming down her blotchy face, snot pooling at her nostrils. Clover’s breathing was erratic as well, as she tried to fight against the phantom pulses from the sudden agony she’d endured. 

Apologies were dripping from Blossom's lips in fanatical ramblings. For what, Clover did not know. Eventually, the room settled as the girls finally returned to their bearings.

Clover didn’t ask Blossom what had occurred. She wouldn’t risk the chance of watching Blossom fall into such a state again. Instead, she just watched the girl, who simply looked back, like a staring contest with neither having any drive to win.

“I’m sorry,” Blossom broke the silence with the soft mumbling that slipped from her lips.

Clover geared herself to respond when the sound of something solid dropping to the floor drew her attention.

A rock, more accurately a chunk of the cement wall before them, crumbled down from the wall revealing a hefty sized hole. A kaleidoscope of coloured light filtered through and onto the floor and Blossom's breath hitched.

Flashes of emotions passed over Blossom’s face as Clover looked on with quiet fascination. Blossom was her rock typically, this was true. She was entertaining and witty and usually had many brilliant ideas and beliefs, but she was detached. There were walls in Blossom that Clover had quite literally watched crumble, at least in part.

Clover could feel it too, the presence of something more within her. The grief, the elation, the distress, they coursed through her with an intensity she had never before experienced. Clover supposed she was always a bit dull; she would never have assumed this to be the reason why.

Blossom was crying again, but not out of distress, more so due to the emotional overload of what she was experiencing. She couldn’t possibly respond in any other way to the feelings that she’d long forgotten. Clover too, sobbed she realized.

“We have to keep going,” Blossom announced rubbing her runny nose against her long flowy sleeves, “we’ve made it this far we need to keep going.”

Clover nodded along, confirming her similar feelings on the matter. They both crawled towards the hole, ignoring the blunt pain of their exposed palms against the jagged rubble.

The other side was warm, unlike the cool air of the warehouse. The floors were soft with the elastic bounce of a gymnastic mat with many variations of colour in a tie-dye spiral design. The walls seemed to move, and vibrant neon lights floated around as if they were trapped inside a giant lava lamp.

The girls had certainly hit the mark when they considered the heart's matters and their magic, far more abstract than their mind.

The heightened senses from outside tripled within the room. Clover hesitated only a moment before gripping onto Blossom to ground herself, who only slightly flinched before relaxing in her hold.

They would need to continue together. They had no hopes of making it through this journey on their own.

Not a word was passed between the two as they stumbled along the brightly coloured tunnel. Their minds felt foggy at best, and it was as if all they knew to do was move forward and hope.

Step after step, their feet moved in sync further and further down the winding hall.

Their thoughts began to cloud, rationality drifting, their grasp on past and present felt as if it had converged. It was a surreal state that Clover had never been exposed to before.

Both nothing and everything, all at once. Blossom had experienced this once, but she was alone. All alone, nothing to hold to, nothing to escape to, no way to know up from down, forward from backward, real from imagined.

Her mind was drifting, floating away and anxiety; insurmountable fear was leaking into its place from somewhere deep inside she’d long since buried. Then the feeling of something winding around her, something solid, something warm, an arm. Clover’s arm was around her waist.

She wasn’t alone. Not this time.

The disorienting swirl of colourful, pulsing fluorescent lights began to shift and dim to the ethereal blue glow that solidly permeated the room. The tunnel was disguised with uneven cobbled walls, and the temperature cooled, but still, the two girls persevered.

“We’re almost through,” Blossom’s voice was so breathy she could barely recognize it, but she could feel the arm at her waist squeeze just a bit in acknowledgement, and she felt her mind clear slightly with the recognition of comfort.

While this increased clarity, it was nowhere enough to support rational thought. It did but enough to fully quell the irrational panic for good.

“I think I can see it,” Clover whispered.

Yet, as they strode to the end of the hall and loomed within the curved doorframe, disappointment sunk at the sight of an unfamiliar room, enclosed on all remaining sides. The hope that they’d be arriving at their destination at the end of the corridor had accumulated as the girls were descending through the halls. In turn, the hope only served to aggravate the girl’s helplessness as they wondered how to move forward from here.

The walls were not damp grey stone, but a regal purple panelling, eye-catching and elegant. Deep nearly black plum carpets stretched the floor that the tips Clover’s bare toes dug into.

Clover felt as if she was walking through cling wrap as she crossed through the arched barrier into the room. The air felt still, with no breeze or weight like they’d experienced in the halls, and even the most shallow of breaths spurred the feeling of oxygen penetrating deep within her lungs.

“Where are we?” Clover tried to ask but felt her voice caught in her throat as not a sound emerged.

She took her right hand, the one she had not wound around the still trembling frame of her older-self and rubbed at her throat, feeling it contract beneath her fingers as she swallowed.

The room was shockingly bare empty, but for a spindly silver microphone stood at the center.

There was a tenseness that wanted to settle within Blossom. She could faintly hear the warning bells she’d installed far up at the top of the tour sounding off. Something was desperately out of place with the space they’d just entered.

The two girls shuffled forward their eyes caught on the glinting metal, ensnared by the sole object within the room without a single desire to look away. Clover reached out, her finger barely brushing against its polished surface, before screams, piercing screams, reverberated off the walls at decibels so loud she could feel the echoes slicing through her ear canals.

Her fingers slipped, and the bloodcurdling cries came to a sudden halt, a sudden reprieve.

Her eyes drifted to Blossom, who was already glancing down at her. She threaded her brows together, eyes wide and glossy with a mouth slightly agape as her form trembled with shuddered breaths. She hoped it was enough to convey her questioning, silently, if she’d truly lost it. Blossom shook her head with minute quivering motions, face whiter than usual, indicating to some degree she’d just experienced something disturbing as well.

The air that had felt full was starting sour, leaving a foul taste on their tongue.

  
The unspoken question resounded between the two girls; what were they to do next?

This room was much like the presumed heart chamber their magic was stored in. Though spacious, it felt like the walls were constricting in on them. It was barren lacking any clue to where they could be.

Clover instinctively rubbed at her throat again as thoughts circulated, each option feeling less appealing than the last. She’d narrowed it down to two clear choices, wait in this room for a hint to miraculously appear, or turn around and give up on this fruitless adventure.

A vicing grip wrapped itself around her wrist, and Clover’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Blossom pulled Clover’s hand down, the one at her throat, and wiggled her own fingers in the air with narrowed eyes that seemed to say watch closely. Her arm stretched out, and Clover braced herself for the screams, but they never came. Prying her eyes back open relaxing from this development, she saw Blossom frozen with her fingertips just a breath away.

A lingering pause stretched on and then fingers, Blossom’s fingers, weaved through Clover’s own and their arms curved over the microphone before together grasping around its base.

A heavy beat of silence passed, then another, and nothing. No screams, no new clues, just quiet.

“Well, that was anti-climactic,” Clover said aloud after a long pause expecting not to be heard, except they could.

Blossom jumped a bit at the sound but nonetheless smiled.

“The truth can’t lie in one of us or another,” Blossom announced eyes never wavering from the silver in her hands which was warming rapidly beneath her palms.

“Only somewhere in between” she breathed the words out like a prophecy, and they flooded through the room echoing off the walls in a million tiny whispers.

_Somewhere in between._

_Somewhere in between._

_Somewhere in between._

The phrase penetrated deep into Clover’s brain, but she unsuccessfully wracked her mind for how this could actually help them at this moment.

Somewhere in between the two girls? The only thing between the two girls was the microphone in their hand.

_Somewhere in between._

The warmth that was penetrating at her palms was swirling up her arms in a steady stream and pooling in her throat.

“The truth lies somewhere between our heart and our mind,” Clover added lamely, she wasn’t expecting the whispers to grow in fervour at this new addition. Yet they did, growing louder and more persistent.

_Somewhere in between._

_Between the heart and the mind._

_Somewhere in between._

The two girls shared a shuddering breath.

“The truth will reveal the path connecting the two,” Blossom’s voice had grown in conviction, she was all but commanding the room, and it submitted to her will with no hesitation.

_Somewhere in between._

_Between the heart and mind._

_The truth will reveal the path._

There was no room for thoughts as the mantra filled into every crevice, and the room shuddered.

There was a vibration beneath their feet that grew in intensity. A block of stone dropped downwards, then another shifted to the side, revealing a spiral staircase before them.

_Somewhere in between._

_Between the heart and mind._

_The truth will reveal the path._

“Are we really doing this?” Clover asked as she looked down into the black depths of the staircase that stretched on deeper than she could see.

“We’ve come this far,” came the expected response.

There was no turning back now. Clover moves first leading the way for Blossom. She takes one cautious step after another, travelling beyond where her eyes can serve her. Her foot trails across the surface of each uneven step first, before slowly lowering it down onto the next. She was relying on the feel of the rough cobble walls to direct her down and Blossom’s firm grasp to keep her from turning tail.

The light above was no longer visible, but neither was whatever awaited below. The two girls were enveloped in absolute darkness. Clover didn’t believe she feared the dark, not even what lurked in it. Rather, what Clover feared was the unknown.   
  


At this moment, for Clover, she felt like she did not know anything, not herself, not Blossom, and not where to take her next step. Her foot caught on an unexpected slick spot, and she felt herself plummeting backwards, dragging Blossom down with her.

They were falling, fast but the fall went on for some time. They expected their backs to slam against the hard stone, but it never did. Instead, the wind was whipping through their hair as they entered into a lengthy free fall.

Someone was yelling, Clover wasn’t sure if it was Blossom or herself or both, but they were yelling, and their voice always seemed to trail behind them.

Then as quick as it all began, it stopped.

Clover felt like a marionette suspended by an assortment of strings as tension pulled at each of her joints. Their descent had slowed upon the bright evergreen glow below them, fondly resembling their middle sister’s eyes.

Their feet were planted on the floor, and the thrum of a heartbeat was so much stronger than how Clover had recalled it being before.

Torches lined the walls blazing a lime green fire, not purple, but Clover paid this inconsistency little mind.

They’d made it. They really made it. Clover was both elated and immobilized by this fact.

However, Blossom had no hesitation as she swiftly strode across the room to the box at the center.

The air tasted sweet, like a smooth caramel coating her tongue. The texture was icy but soft as it brushed against her skin. Almost creamy in the way melting ice cream as it steams down its cone and onto the hand feels. Sticky even.

This was her magic. She knew it without being told, knew it from the completeness she felt at her core, from the euphoric vibrations that settled in her bones.

Blossom’s hands gripped the base of the box, a reddish wood with swirling engravings, not pewter. She tried to peel open the cover, frustrated when it didn’t give with even the roughest of tugging at its flimsy golden clasp. The box was locked.

“Clover?” Blossom’s voice called out, but her other self’s eyes were glossed over, and Clover began to take mindless steps forward.

Blossom backed away until her back was pressed the wall as she looked on with horrified captivation.

Clover’s hands pushed upon either side of the wood, and the pads of her thumb pressed into identical indentations. The lid flipped open, releasing a burst of jade light that grew larger and larger before streaming throughout the room and coating the girl herself.

A pathway to the realm above, back to the mind, was illuminated for Blossom. She smiled to Clover as she watched her fade away, the greatest expression of elation overtaking the young girl’s delicate features.

_Don’t let it go to your head._ Blossom thought as she ground her teeth. They’d certainly found something, but it was not what they were looking for.

She licked her lips as the staircase mocked her; she supposed she should prepare for the long journey up.

Clover, on the other hand, was wriggling uncomfortably as her mind slowly returned to reality. A thundering headache split her skull at the seams, but the frosty current flooding her veins thrummed with unmistakable magical power.

Despite the absolute agony that it put her through Clover slowly peeled her eyes open and was shocked to see not the sight of the mustard yellow curtains of her canopy, but the sterile white ceiling of the Hospital Wing.

How had she gotten here she wondered, her headache still too much to voice the question aloud.

The thought, however, as she woke up to see her distressed sisters face. She was cradling Clover’s hand gently as she conversed with Severus who was as apathetic seeming as ever.

“Lily,” her voice croaked roughly, and it felt as if her throat was rubbing on sandpaper to merely speak the short word.

“Clover!” her head whipped around. “Oh, thank Merlin! You don’t know how much you scared me. Four days you were asleep!” Lily exclaimed with a mix of both relief and exhaustion, tinging her expression as her shoulder’s relaxed.

_Four days?_

At the sight of Clover awake Severus offered a slight nod of acknowledgement to Clover, she returned it, and he swept from the room not wasting a second longer than necessary.

“I’m so sorry I haven’t been there, if I’d known you were struggling this much, I wouldn’t have let this silly fight drag on so long,” Lily spoke out, her guilt tingling like pins and needles across Clover’s skin.

Clover opened her mouth to respond, but the lack of any moisture on her tongue kept a single sound from tearing out.

“Here, drink some water,” Lily offered, and Clover took the glass gratefully letting the liquid slide down her throat with greedy gulps.

“Madam Pomphrey had wanted to give you some potions to help with the dehydration, but Professor McGonagall warned that any disruption to the state you were in could be detrimental to any progress that you’d made.” Her sister offered as an explanation.

Did McGonagall know what was happening to her? She supposed that made sense. The older witch seemed to be quite well-read on the subject.

“So did you do it?” Lily asked the guilt melting away to the buzz of eager curiosity.

“Do what?” Clover asked dumbly as she set the glass back down, feeling her headache dull ever so slightly.

“Can you access your magic?” her sister rephrased, not at all put out by Clover’s lack of comprehension.

Rather than with words Clover took hold of both of Lily’s hands in her own and let the frigid sugary energy stream between their palms, eliciting a gasp of awe from her sister at the feel of someone else’s magic within her.

“Is that?” Lily didn’t finish her sentence, but she didn’t have to.

“It is.”

_Now to just figure out how to use it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Clover's got her magic which should make everything a bit more interesting...
> 
> I plan to move a bit quicker from here, but to be honest, it's me and my writing rarely moves all that quick. The focus from now will be more so on relationships for the next little bit so I hope you are all prepared for that because little Clover is in for a ride with this new sensitivity. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed! Comment what you like, didn't like, absolutely hated. Is Blossom irritating? Is Clover a brat? Do I need to get on with the story already? Let me know


	11. Chapter 11 ~ Practice Makes Perfect

"You need to feel your magic flow through your palms, to your fingers, and into your wand" Flitwick instructed. Conjured glitter swirled his arm, looping up and down, to exemplify the flow of magic. 

"The wand is the extension of the wizard and is a powerful tool to garner precise results." His voice rose with an inflexion as he essentially relayed the book in front of him to the young girl. 

"That is once mastered," he added goodnaturedly teasing the frustrated student. 

Professor Flitwick was not one to typically teach directly from a book. He idealistically believed the students will do their own reading and he is but a supplemental resource. Nevertheless, this was an uncommon circumstance. It was not often that a professor would be required to instruct students on how to direct their energy through the wand. For most students, the flow of their magic is not something they would actively acknowledge. It was more akin to breathing for generators, the vast majority of British wizards, at least. The wand typically binds to its owner before they ever step foot on Hogwarts property, even if it would give its caster trouble at times. 

Clover took up her professor on his offer to catch her up on her spell work not long after being released from the hospital wing. Flitwick himself was all too eager to oblige fleshing out a generous schedule for the two of them with the claim that he saw a promising dueler in her. 

Every week, three times a week, they met in a smaller classroom just off the main corridor near the Great Hall on Sunday afternoons, Tuesday mornings, and Thursday evenings. 

The room seemed as if it once housed a duelling club or something of that nature, with the dummies lining the room and the casting circle imprinted into the floor. She could feel the boundaries it cast on her magic. When she'd stumbled on her words one early Thursday, she watched the chalky white markings emit a soft silver glow. The accidental explosive enchantment dissipated and its smell of sulfur was overtaken by fresh linen again. Constructed sorcery had a mysterious allure in that way. 

However, there was only one circle, so perhaps it was more likely used as a training space, as she was using it now. Regardless, Clover was growing to love her time in the room. Especially on Tuesday's and Thursday's, the golden light of dawn and dusk filtered through the tall stained windows casting a kaleidoscope of colourful contours throughout the room. It was a spectacle to observe, especially in contrast to the cool grey backdrop of Sunday afternoons. 

It was comfortably warm as well, which Clover wondered if it was because it resided just a level above the furnace-like kitchens. Always a happy reprieve from the nipping cold of the Hogwart's corridors. 

The room did little to mollify Clover's agitation though. Even without a magical block, it seemed she genuinely just had little affinity for spellcasting. She took a deep breath through her nose, pushing the air back out through her mouth in a slow, measured count. Her eyes were clenched shut as she tried to focus her attention on the ebb and flow of her surging frosty magic. 

The chill concentrated, as far as she could tell, not in her real heart. 

Instead, her magic wound itself in a cavity of her upper chest; just a finger's length below her collar. She could sense it pressing against her ribcage as her focus shifted away, allowing it to expand. 

Despite her best efforts, she couldn't help but allow her senses to continually shift to the far more stimulating fizzy pop of her enthusiastic professor's energy. 

"Focus Ms. Evans, we were successful only two days ago, I know you can do it again," Flitwick encouraged. 

Clover wished it wasn't rude to ask the man to quiet as his voice was only making holding her attention all the more challenging. Each time he spoke, his magic would flood from his lips in faint streams, but it seemed that the less obvious the energy, the harder it was to ignore. 

Dropping her arm, Clover pushed the air from her nose in a frustrated huff. Opening her eyes, she threw a worn glance to her professor her features relaxed in defeat. 

"We better call it a night Professor, I can't do it," Clover sighed. 

The small man was still buzzing from the sugar quills he'd been nibbling on. If Clover watched closely, she could see small blue particles sprouting from his skin as if he was genuinely fizzing. 

"Nonsense Ms. Evans" he chided slipping from where he sat atop the oak storage chest. 

"Here have a sugar quill to replenish your energy," he grabbed a handful from the bag passing one to Clover and hoarding the remaining for himself. 

Clover popped the sweet in her mouth, allowing the candy-floss like feather end to melt on her tongue. 

"Thank you Professor," but the man just hummed, the tip of his own sweets hanging limply from his mouth as he pulled his wand from its holster. 

"How about we run through the counting method again?" He proposed twirling the long stick between his fingers deftly. 

"Alright," she conceded, raising her arm again before remembering to slip in a courteous "Professor." 

Clover shut her eyes once more and controlled her breathing. She waited for the squeaky voice of her professor to cut through the silence as she fought to clear her mind. The counting method worked best when she tried to dull her senses as much as possible, so she could best imitate her professor's flow. 

"One," his voice echoed off the walls as she felt a building static where he stood before her. Clover allowed the chill in her chest to expand even more. 

"Two," the static stopped growing, and she could feel it reigning in, the crackling compounding to concentrated jolts of electricity. Clover attempted the same constricting the flurry within her down to a more solid icy presence. 

"Three," the sparks travelled in purposeful zaps to what Clover assumed was her professor's wand. She allowed her core to melt just the slightest feeling the sparsest trickle of sweet energy creep its way from her chest and down her arm. 

"Four," the feel of her professor's energy pressed into the forefront of Clover's mind as he released it into the room. She wasn't sure how he did it, but she tried to push the coolness pooling in her palm into the wand. Eventually, it felt as if the blockage was removed. Her energy streamed into the smooth wood where the hilt rested at the base of her wrist. Completing the circuit, it flowed back into the tips of her fingers and up her arms again. 

"Good job, Ms. Evans" came the professor's praise and Clover could see, even with her eyes closed, the jade glow that was permeating from her wand. 

Clover let a small smile grace her lips. 

"Non-verbal this time as well," the charms professor continued and Clover felt her smile grow just a degree brighter from the swelling pride. 

"Let's try the tripudio charm one more time before we retire?" he suggested. Even with some confidence returned, the wizard keenly noticed the girl was exhausted from the hours of attempting the final enchantment she needed to be caught up with the class. 

Clover could only offer a non-committal hum as she pointed her wand at the glossy red apple sat in the centre of the casting circle on the floor. 

"Felix tripudio" Clover weakly uttered trying to mentally run through the four counts again, expanding, freezing, melting, and guiding her magic. Her eyes didn't close as she trained them closely on the vibrant coloured fruit as she felt the circuit complete. 

It was motionless for a bit, and if she wasn't so concentrated, she wouldn't have noticed the minute wobble. She was holding her breath in anticipation when the wobbling increased in fervour. Suddenly, the apple shot up, bouncing around as if it were on a trampoline. She released an unflattering barking laugh of relief. 

"Fantastic Ms. Evans, no need to doubt yourself, progress comes with practice," he preached. Clover just nodded her head giddy from the high of her successful charm. 

"You should be proud, Ms. Evans, you've successfully caught up to seven months of lessons in only two, that is quite a feat!" He continued to exclaim—his rising energy reflecting Clover's excitement. 

"Thank you professor," Clover said as she felt her mind sobering at his words. They may have run through all the spells, but her ability to cast was inconsistent at best. She knew she still had a long ways to go. 

The professor continued to smile reassuringly, but Clover knew the man was far too encouraging for it to be honest. He was the 'good cop' of Hogwarts, allowing the other teachers to divvy out the punishments. At the same time, he acted as a support system, a constant beam of hope. 

In fact, it seemed Hogwarts had fallen into flawed parental archetypes where the motherly heads of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff were saddled with the discipline positions. In contrast, the heads of Slytherin and Ravenclaw were more engaged in the extracurricular side of the Hogwarts experience, at least for what she'd seen so far. Dumbledore's place in the lives of the student's had yet to be seen. 

Moreover, Dumbledore himself outside of meals had yet to be seen by Clover. He was likely a busy man with endless administrative duties and work for positions outside of headmaster. So this wasn't necessarily surprising, but it wasn't expected either. 

Flitwick held out a signed piece of parchment so that Clover could walk the halls down to the Hufflepuff dorms and not fear getting in trouble without him escorting her. As per their usual, the session had dragged quite long into the evening, and Clover was sure there would be prefects patrolling the halls. That is if the whiny voice of peeves shouting about students out after curfew was any indication. 

"Have a good night, Professor," Clover said, taking the parchment from his hand. She halted in her motion to stuff the slip in the inner pocket of her robes before deciding it would probably be best to just hold it in her hand. 

"You as well Ms. Evans, I am looking forward to our Sunday session, I can't wait to see what you make of the ignus charm!" He called out to her. She awkwardly stood in the room, unsure if she should turn on her heel and leave because she'd said her goodbye, or acknowledge the professor's proclamation. Seeing that his back was turned and he hadn't looked up she figured she could go. 

The halls were cold that night, as they were every night, and Clover drew her robes tighter around her body to combat the nipping air against her exposed skin. For a school with a layout so abominably nonsensical, she found the halls relatively easy to navigate the more time she spent walking them. Especially to get to the Hufflepuff dorms. It was quite a fun trip to descend the staircase of ancient armours when there weren't so many distracting auras and voices surrounding her. 

"Keep it down Black someone will hear you," she heard a whisper magnify off of the insulating walls when Clover had entered the Hogwart's lower level. 

She didn't need to hear them, she'd felt the presence of the 'Marauders' long ago. Black especially. 

She didn't know what it was about their family. Perhaps Walburga's essence had simply made a significant impact on Clover that day in Diagon Alley. Either way, their magical signature was ingrained deep into Clover's mind, especially with her heightened sensitivity. She could tell when Regulus and Sirius were approaching, or where they'd come from with a great deal of accuracy. It extended up to she'd wager a half kilometre away in a thick crowd without needing to catch a single glimpse of them. 

The other 'Marauders', Potter, Lupin, and Pettigrew, she could sense, and distinguish between each of them sure enough. However, she could never pick them from a crowd in the fashion she could identify the Black brothers. 

The pureblood brothers didn't feel dark per se. Clover wondered if there was merit to 'The most ancient and noble house of black' because there was something distinctly archaic almost chaotic about their signature. It didn't fizzle or flow like others' magic, it was like a vortex that pulled at her from every direction making her mind spin when she'd get too close. 

It made sitting beside Regulus for two hours every Monday and Wednesday in double potions quite the treat. 

"You be quiet Potter, you call that whispering?" a haughty voice shot back. More fretful hushing noises cut through the air as the sound of the hard heels of Clover's mary janes resounded against the stone floors. 

Clover didn't allow her eyes to linger on the bodiless ankles on the left side of the corridor, clustered together in a heap. She just kept walking coming to a stop in front of the barrel entryway to Hufflepuff house. 

It was then the pungent smell of vinegar assaulted her nose. Those fools weren't hiding from her in fear of getting caught at night. They were trying to spy on her to enter her common room. 

She ground her teeth at the thought of the menaces having free reign to wreak havoc in her safe space. She shuffled on her feet, shifting her weight back and forth as she wondered how she could possibly get inside without teaching the Marauder's how to as well. 

It's not like the method of entering the Hufflepuff dorm's ever changed. She would be setting herself up for torture for the next six years of her Hogwart's experience. She swallowed thickly before turning on her heel and walking back down the hall in the direction that she had come. 

After travelling some ways, she could hear the faint hush of voices trailing behind her and had caught the slightest glimpse of shoes on the move in her peripheral. She paused again, this time in front of the painting of the bowl of fruit. Swiftly she tickled the pear revealing the doorknob and made her way inside, shedding her robe so that she could hope to stand the heat. 

Barging through the door the right at the end of the hall, the one not to the kitchens, Clover scoured the wonderous world of fabric and suds. House elf magic drifted by carrying the smell of fresh laundry across the room, and Clover had to keep herself from stopping to breath it in. 

She quickly veered to the right corner, finding an alcove near the same spot as the kitchen and slipped inside. Crouching down and hopefully out of sight, she schooled her breathing, realizing she really was out of shape. Quite a few laundry lines were obstructing her view. Still, Clover could see the familiar quartet dash into the room, having foregone the invisibility cloak at this point. 

"Where'd she go?" The squeaky voice of Pettigrew called out into the room. Clover felt her heart stutter from the tension. 

"Hell if I know," the frustrated voice of Black all but drawled. The tightness in her shoulders released, but she was still on alert. 

"Whod've thought the Puff would try and give us the slip. I can't see any others coming 'round tonight lads," Potter chuckled out. It wasn't quite as uplifting as she'd suspect he hoped. It sounded strained by his obvious disappointment that their plan was foiled. 

"Wasn't that the little Evans?" Lupin's voice rang out, and there was some pause. 

"Nah, there's no reason the little firstie would be out again after curfew. Haven't even seen her mulling about the library lately," Potter argued, and Clover let out a soft breath of release. At least she wouldn't become a target for this little deception. 

"What've you been doing 'round a library James?" the now far more relaxed voice of Black teased. She could see him loitering around the aisles of clothes near where the rest of his friends were bunched together searching. They were looking in the wrong direction, of course. 

"Snivellous has been in there a lot lately. Was thinking I'd place a sticking charm on his books. Y'know how Pince gets about her books, he'd never hear the end of it," Potter defended. As if the thought of willingly entering a library for any other reason was absurd. 

"She's not here!" the voice of Pettigrew shouted out, somewhere in the far left corner of the room. 

"Here neither!" Came Lupins call a few moments after somewhere towards the centre, but still a great distance away from her. 

The passing blur of a figure coming into view had Clover feeling as if she would keel over. Not that the situation was nearly high stakes enough to warrant such a feeling. 

It wasn't a boy wizard though, but a house elf with ears that creased twice and a crooked drooping nose. Her flushed face and taught eyebrows were met with slow blinks by the elf who said not a word as he looked down at her. 

"Not over here!" Potter's voice cut through the moment, far closer than the other two boys and Clover felt her throat constricting, making it hard to breathe. 

Footsteps faintly reverberated, closer than before, and Clover could feel precisely who it was approaching, Black. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see the smug look when he found her and nearly let out a cry when he stopped before her. 

He continued along down the aisle after a seconds pause. Clover didn't know what to make of the situation, was he letting her off? That made no sense. It wasn't until she could feel his presence residing somewhere near the entryway that Clover risked releasing a breath and opening her eyes. 

Still standing before her was the crooked little house elf and at that moment Clover knew that it'd been the one to help her. She offered a small smile of gratitude which was met with a small quirking at the corner of its lips before it snapped its fingers and disappeared from sight. 

"She's gone lads, might as well call it a night," Potter conceded, and there was a few mumbled of affirmation throughout. Clover could feel them slip out of the room and down the hall and hadn't moved a muscle until the feel of Black's energy reached the limits of her senses. 

Exiting back into the corridor, she slipped her robe back over her shoulders which felt far colder than the laundry domain. She'd nearly made it to the barrels when "Ms. Evans" a familiar voice called out. 

Stopping, Clover promptly pivoted her body to acknowledge her potions professor, "Professor Slughorn." 

"My girl, what are you doing out in the halls so late at night?" he questioned his emerald velvet robes billowing around his growing middle. 

"I am just returning from my extra lessons with Professor Flitwick sir," she replied, meekly trying not to stare down at her toes. 

"Is that so?" and Clover felt her brain stutter at the scepticism in his voice. 

"Yes Professor," she asserted. 

"Do you have a note Ms. Evans?" he asked accusingly. 

Clover went to hold out the slip that Professor Flitwick had given her before she left when she realized it wasn't in her hand. She shifted through each of her pockets, inside and out, in front of the professor. 

"I seem to have lost it Professor," she weakly excused. 

"It's okay my girl, I saw you popping out of the kitchens down the hall, I would've let you off if you hadn't mentioned Professor Flitwick y'know." The stern expression he was wearing melted into a far more jovial one. 

"I already met with four boys tonight coming from Professor Flitwick's, had a note and everything. So I can't very well pretend I don't know any better," he laughed out hands on his round belly. 

Four boys with a note from Flitwick, the 'Marauders' must have swiped her slip after she dropped it when she tried to get away from them. She bit on the tip of her tongue to reign in her frustration. 

"Sorry, Professor," she said, not seeing the point of arguing her innocence. It would all be more trouble than its worth. 

"It's alright my girl, I was just popping down for a bite to eat myself, the elves make a fantastic treacle tart," he confined, leaning in a bit as if it were a great secret. 

"However, as a Hogwarts professor, I can't just let you off now. It really comes at a wonderful time, I've just been asked by Madam Pomphrey to replenish her pepper-up potions and cure for boils stocks. How about you pop in tomorrow night and do me this favour and we can put this ordeal behind us, hm?" He prompted as if Clover had any say in the matter. 

"Of course, Professor," she consented, eyeing the barrels as all she wanted to do was crawl into her bed at this point. 

"Very well, I will see you then my girl, have a nice sleep," he patted her on the shoulder with familiarity before shuffling his way down the hall. 

Tapping the barrel to the familiar rhythm, Clover slipped inside her common room and struggled to not just collapse onto the couch's and accept sleep. She persevered into her dorms, shedding her robes and donning her sleepwear without any modesty as she knew the rest of her roommates were fast asleep. 

After a quick pop into the bathroom to rinse the sugary residue of her magic from her mouth, not wanting cavities, she slipped under the covers and was out like a light. 

The evening in the potions lab passed by easy enough. As did the remainder of Clover's school year. It seemed the Marauders had really no inkling that it was her that night, and even better they'd never seemed to have discovered the Hufflepuff password. It really was the best-kept secret at Hogwarts. 

She'd found herself as the remaining months rolled along falling into a comfortable routine in every facet of her life. She had her lessons with Flitwick, still three times a week. McGonagall would call her down every Saturday to present her progress with her practical transfiguration. Slughorn would find some excuse for her to do tedious tasks for him every Friday night. Then finally, Professor Sprout had her in her office every Monday morning before classes. She would ask about how she felt and discuss her magic and if she needed any more support. 

It was dull, but satisfying, especially when exams rolled along and Clover was confident for most she not only passed but excelled. Aside from Defense Against the Dark Arts, she hadn't the slightest clue what they'd learned that year. She figured she'd be teaching herself either way, however with the incompatibility of that class and her casting type. 

Soon enough, she was back on the Hogwarts express and returning home for the summer. Much like winter break, it felt as if the time came around far too shortly. 

"Hello stranger," a voice called from the doorway of her cabin. Lily hadn't arrived yet, there was no familiar crack of summer thunderstorms in the vicinity. 

"Philomena," Clover said, then realized that wasn't a proper greeting and followed with "how are you?" 

"I've been good, I haven't seen you around in a while. Did I scare you off from the libraries?" Philomena teased, slipping onto the cushion across from Clover. 

"No I just finished my research," Clover excused not wanting the girl to get the wrong impression. She really had stopped frequenting the library after their conversation. 

"Oh?" Philomena urged the younger girl to elaborate. 

"I was having trouble tapping into my magic, but when I was able to figure it out. It didn't make sense to keep reading about something that I would just need to learn to feel for myself," Clover explained. She shifted herself back so that she was cradled in the corner of the compartment and pulled her knees to her chest. Best to get comfortable before the long journey ahead. 

"Makes sense," Philomena asserted pushing a dangling wavy strand of blonde hair back behind her ear. "Clover do you by chance-" 

Her words were stopped short by the impact of the door sliding open with great force. 

"There you are!" Marlene shouted, sliding into the seat beside Philomena. She pulled the other blonde into a vicing embrace and Clover couldn't tell if it was a smile or a grimace that pulled at Philomena's face. 

"Good to see you little Evans how've you been?" Marlene asked when she finally released her grip on the Ravenclaw. 

"Good enough," Clover said. 

"Yeah? Hufflepuff been treating you nice then? I heard you're right next to the kitchens down there," she chattered off. Marlene crossed her legs and propped herself up with her elbows on her knees as she waited for Clover to regale about the secrets of Hufflepuff house. 

"Right down the hall," Clover verified, "makes it real tempting to miss breakfast." 

Marlene slipped into a far more relaxed smile seeing as the conversation was flowing far smoother than it had at the start of the year. 

"I'd bet why do you come down to the Great Hall at all when it's so close?" she asked, somewhat teasing, somewhat serious. 

"You're not supposed to be using the kitchens after all, need to show face in the Great Hall sometimes to keep the professors from getting concerned," Clover supplied. Marlene seemed to take that as a good enough answer. 

In due time, Lily had found her way to the compartment, as did Dorcas Meadows and Mary Macdonald. It was the same group as when Clover was starting her year at Hogwarts and Clover couldn't help, but feel there was something poetic about her year ending the same way it began. Mainly when so many things changed for her in between. 

It was a comforting thought. One Clover, unfortunately, would not find herself contemplating again for many years. The road ahead would never be as smooth as her first year at Hogwarts if that could be believed. 

The end of this year marked an end to Clover's childhood of sorts. At least the smokescreen of protecting Clover from what was really going on around her. Twelve-year-old Clover was still no adult, but as she stepped onto the magical platform at King's Cross, she would find there was indeed so much of her own world that she'd missed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N
> 
> A little shorter than the past chapters, but I wanted to wrap up year one. I officially laid out an outline for how this story is going to progress and I am extremely excited to continue.
> 
> Forewarning again. This is going to end up being multiple novel-length before I can go back and potentially break it up into multiple books, but there are three main arcs and I will give you forewarning when we enter #2 which won't be for some time. In the same vein romance won't really be the main focus in this fic, though it will pop up at a few points in time and become more central towards the end when I finally decide on pairings. It's more about friendship, and trust and affection, and most of all redemption. 
> 
> I know a lot of people are looking for more Regulus and Clover interactions, but I just can't justify why they would suddenly start to interact with Clover's nature even if they are potions partners. It will come eventually though so don't you worry. 
> 
> Additionally, there are quite a number of original characters cropping up, due to the fact that I have a Marauder's era setting with a non-Gryffindor. Let me know what you think of our Ravenclaws and Hufflepuff's and eventually Slytherins as they appear. I hope you all have been having a great start to your year and that you look forward to what's to come.


End file.
